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Q: What are Loam's views towards class divisions? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

Class divisions are artificial.

75871827f179df4ea960b4d93054d165cc042895_1

75871827f179df4ea960b4d93054d165cc042895_1_1

Q: What are Loam's views towards class divisions? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

He considers them artificial.

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Q: Who assumes leadership on the deserted island? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

Crichton.

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Q: Why do the aristocrats return to Crichton? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

He has found and cooked food.

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Q: Why do the aristocrats return to Crichton? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

He was the only one who could find and cook food

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Q: What is Crichton's nickname, years after landing on the island? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

They call him 'the Guv'.

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Q: What is Crichton's nickname, years after landing on the island? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

The Guv.

75871827f179df4ea960b4d93054d165cc042895_5

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Q: Who falls in love with the Guv? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

Lady Mary (Loam's daughter)

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75871827f179df4ea960b4d93054d165cc042895_5_1

Q: Who falls in love with the Guv? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

Lady Mary

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75871827f179df4ea960b4d93054d165cc042895_6_0

Q: Who was Lady Mary engaged to before falling in love with The Guv? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

Lord Brocklehurst.

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Q: Who quizzes Lady Mary about her time on the island? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

Lady Brocklehurst.

75871827f179df4ea960b4d93054d165cc042895_8

75871827f179df4ea960b4d93054d165cc042895_8_0

Q: What stops the wedding of Crichton and Lady Mary? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

The sound of a rescue ship's gun.

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Q: What stops the wedding of Crichton and Lady Mary? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

The sound of a ship's gun.

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Q: After years at sea and the leader, what is Crichton's job once back at Loam Hall? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

He is the butler once again.

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Q: After years at sea and the leader, what is Crichton's job once back at Loam Hall? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

He is once again the butler.

75871827f179df4ea960b4d93054d165cc042895_10

75871827f179df4ea960b4d93054d165cc042895_10_0

Q: In the beginning of the story, how does Loam feel about class distinctions? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

He doesn't like them

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75871827f179df4ea960b4d93054d165cc042895_10_1

Q: In the beginning of the story, how does Loam feel about class distinctions? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

He thinks they are artificial.

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75871827f179df4ea960b4d93054d165cc042895_11_0

Q: Who becomes the leader of the group on the deserted island? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

Crichton

75871827f179df4ea960b4d93054d165cc042895_12

75871827f179df4ea960b4d93054d165cc042895_12_0

Q: Who is about to marry Crichton while on the deserted island? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

Lady Mary, Loam's daughter

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75871827f179df4ea960b4d93054d165cc042895_12_1

Q: Who is about to marry Crichton while on the deserted island? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

Lady Mary

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Q: How do Loam's guests feel about socializing with Loam's servants? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

Embarrassed

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Q: How do Loam's guests feel about socializing with Loam's servants? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

They are embarrassed to socialize with the servants.

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Q: How does Crichton train Ernest? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

By dunking his head in a bucket of water.

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Q: How does Crichton train Ernest? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

By making him put his head in a bucket of water

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75871827f179df4ea960b4d93054d165cc042895_15_0

Q: At the end of the story, how does the Loam household feel about having Crichton around? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

Embarrassed

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Q: What does Lady Brocklehurst suspect about Lady Mary? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

That Lady Mary was unfaithful to Lord Brocklehurst.

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Q: What does Lady Brocklehurst suspect about Lady Mary? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

That she has been unfaithful to Lord Brocklehurst

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Q: Where does Loam promote his views about class distinctions? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

At his tea parties

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Q: Where does Loam promote his views about class distinctions? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

During tea parties with Aristocrats.

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75871827f179df4ea960b4d93054d165cc042895_18_0

Q: In the beginning of the story, what is Crichton's opinion on the class system? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

Natural in a civilized society.

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Q: In the beginning of the story, what is Crichton's opinion on the class system? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

It is the natural outcome of civilised society

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Q: Who did Lady Mary forget about while she was on the island? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

Lord Broklehurst.

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75871827f179df4ea960b4d93054d165cc042895_19_1

Q: Who did Lady Mary forget about while she was on the island? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

her fiance' back home

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Q: To which Lord was the Lady Mary a daughter too? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

Lord Loam is the father of Lady Mary.

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Q: To which Lord was the Lady Mary a daughter too? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

Loam

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Q: How many acts does "The Admirable Crichton" consist of? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

It consists of four acts.

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Q: How many acts does "The Admirable Crichton" consist of? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

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Q: What position/job did Crichton have under Lord Loam prior to the island? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

He was the butler.

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75871827f179df4ea960b4d93054d165cc042895_22_1

Q: What position/job did Crichton have under Lord Loam prior to the island? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

Butler.

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Q: In Act Three, what was Crichton's appointed nickname? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

They called him "The Guv".

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75871827f179df4ea960b4d93054d165cc042895_23_1

Q: In Act Three, what was Crichton's appointed nickname? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

the Guv

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Q: What were Lord Loam's views on the class system in British society? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

He thought they were artificial.

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Q: What were Lord Loam's views on the class system in British society? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

acceptable and natural part of a civilized society

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Q: What were Crichton's views on the class system in British society? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

He considered them to be the natural outcome of a civilized society.

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Q: What were Crichton's views on the class system in British society? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

He felt it was normal

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75871827f179df4ea960b4d93054d165cc042895_26_0

Q: In what way(s) were Crichton and Lord Loam's roles reversed during the story? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

Crichton was in charge during their stay on the island, but Loam had been in charge prior to the island.

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75871827f179df4ea960b4d93054d165cc042895_26_1

Q: In what way(s) were Crichton and Lord Loam's roles reversed during the story? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

While they are stranded on the island Crichton rises to a sort of prominence, and Loam is ordinary.

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Q: How did Lord Loam and his group end up on the island? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

They shipwrecked.

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Q: How did Lord Loam and his group end up on the island? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

They were shipwrecked.

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Q: How do the survivors get rescued from the island? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

A passing ship sees Crichton's signal and offer their assistance.

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Q: How do the survivors get rescued from the island? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

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Q: About how long were they trapped on the island? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

About two years.

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Q: About how long were they trapped on the island? Text: Produced by Charles Franks, Ralph Zimmermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON From The Plays Of J. M. Barrie A COMEDY By J. M. Barrie ACT I. AT LOAM HOUSE, MAYFAIR A moment before the curtain rises, the Hon. Ernest Woolley drives up to the door of Loam House in Mayfair. There is a happy smile on his pleasant, insignificant face, and this presumably means that he is thinking of himself. He is too busy over nothing, this man about town, to be always thinking of himself, but, on the other hand, he almost never thinks of any other person. Probably Ernest's great moment is when he wakes of a morning and realises that he really is Ernest, for we must all wish to be that which is our ideal. We can conceive him springing out of bed light-heartedly and waiting for his man to do the rest. He is dressed in excellent taste, with just the little bit more which shows that he is not without a sense of humour: the dandiacal are often saved by carrying a smile at the whole thing in their spats, let us say. Ernest left Cambridge the other day, a member of The Athenaeum (which he would be sorry to have you confound with a club in London of the same name). He is a bachelor, but not of arts, no mean epigrammatist (as you shall see), and a favourite of the ladies. He is almost a celebrity in restaurants, where he dines frequently, returning to sup; and during this last year he has probably paid as much in them for the privilege of handing his hat to an attendant as the rent of a working-man's flat. He complains brightly that he is hard up, and that if somebody or other at Westminster does not look out the country will go to the dogs. He is no fool. He has the shrewdness to float with the current because it is a labour-saving process, but he has sufficient pluck to fight, if fight he must (a brief contest, for he would soon be toppled over). He has a light nature, which would enable him to bob up cheerily in new conditions and return unaltered to the old ones. His selfishness is his most endearing quality. If he has his way he will spend his life like a cat in pushing his betters out of the soft places, and until he is old he will be fondled in the process. He gives his hat to one footman and his cane to another, and mounts the great staircase unassisted and undirected. As a nephew of the house he need show no credentials even to Crichton, who is guarding a door above. It would not be good taste to describe Crichton, who is only a servant; if to the scandal of all good houses he is to stand out as a figure in the play, he must do it on his own, as they say in the pantry and the boudoir. We are not going to help him. We have had misgivings ever since we found his name in the title, and we shall keep him out of his rights as long as we can. Even though we softened to him he would not be a hero in these clothes of servitude; and he loves his clothes. How to get him out of them? It would require a cataclysm. To be an indoor servant at all is to Crichton a badge of honour; to be a butler at thirty is the realisation of his proudest ambitions. He is devotedly attached to his master, who, in his opinion, has but one fault, he is not sufficiently contemptuous of his inferiors. We are immediately to be introduced to this solitary failing of a great English peer. This perfect butler, then, opens a door, and ushers Ernest into a certain room. At the same moment the curtain rises on this room, and the play begins. It is one of several reception-rooms in Loam House, not the most magnificent but quite the softest; and of a warm afternoon all that those who are anybody crave for is the softest. The larger rooms are magnificent and bare, carpetless, so that it is an accomplishment to keep one's feet on them; they are sometimes lent for charitable purposes; they are also all in use on the night of a dinner-party, when you may find yourself alone in one, having taken a wrong turning; or alone, save for two others who are within hailing distance. This room, however, is comparatively small and very soft. There are so many cushions in it that you wonder why, if you are an outsider and don't know that, it needs six cushions to make one fair head comfy. The couches themselves are cushions as large as beds, and there is an art of sinking into them and of waiting to be helped out of them. There are several famous paintings on the walls, of which you may say 'Jolly thing that,' without losing caste as knowing too much; and in cases there are glorious miniatures, but the daughters of the house cannot tell you of whom; 'there is a catalogue somewhere.' There are a thousand or so of roses in basins, several library novels, and a row of weekly illustrated newspapers lying against each other like fallen soldiers. If any one disturbs this row Crichton seems to know of it from afar and appears noiselessly and replaces the wanderer. One thing unexpected in such a room is a great array of tea things. Ernest spots them with a twinkle, and has his epigram at once unsheathed. He dallies, however, before delivering the thrust. ERNEST. I perceive, from the tea cups, Crichton, that the great function is to take place here. CRICHTON (with a respectful sigh). Yes, sir. ERNEST (chuckling heartlessly). The servants' hall coming up to have tea in the drawing-room! (With terrible sarcasm.) No wonder you look happy, Crichton. CRICHTON (under the knife). No, sir. ERNEST. Do you know, Crichton, I think that with an effort you might look even happier. (CRICHTON smiles wanly.) You don't approve of his lordship's compelling his servants to be his equals--once a month? CRICHTON. It is not for me, sir, to disapprove of his lordship's radical views. ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that he is affable to you. CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's treatment of us is everything that could be desired. ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the dregs. CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir. ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand. (He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering. CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has kicked the footstool across the room.) ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of the sea-- (He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one after all. He lifts the stool, but hastily conceals it behind him on the entrance of the LADIES CATHERINE and AGATHA, two daughters of the house. CATHERINE is twenty, and AGATHA two years younger. They are very fashionable young women indeed, who might wake up for a dance, but they are very lazy, CATHERINE being two years lazier than AGATHA.) ERNEST (uneasily jocular, because he is concealing the footstool). And how are my little friends to-day? AGATHA (contriving to reach a settee). Don't be silly, Ernest. If you want to know how we are, we are dead. Even to think of entertaining the servants is so exhausting. CATHERINE (subsiding nearer the door). Besides which, we have had to decide what frocks to take with us on the yacht, and that is such a mental strain. ERNEST. You poor over-worked things. (Evidently AGATHA is his favourite, for he helps her to put her feet on the settee, while CATHERINE has to dispose of her own feet.) Rest your weary limbs. CATHERINE (perhaps in revenge). But why have you a footstool in your hand? AGATHA. Yes? ERNEST. Why? (Brilliantly; but to be sure he has had time to think it out.) You see, as the servants are to be the guests I must be butler. I was practising. This is a tray, observe. (Holding the footstool as a tray, he minces across the room like an accomplished footman. The gods favour him, for just here LADY MARY enters, and he holds out the footstool to her.) Tea, my lady? (LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What's that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don't wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won't you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don't know everything. Agatha, I'm not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don't you see? I'm not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I'm sure it's awfully clever, but it's so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I'm not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I'm--not--young--enough--to--know--everything. TREHERNE. I see. What you really mean, my boy, is that you are not old enough to know everything. ERNEST. No, I don't. TREHERNE. I assure you that's it. LADY MARY. Of course it is. CATHERINE. Yes, Ernest, that's it. (ERNEST, in desperation, appeals to CRICHTON.) ERNEST. I am not young enough, Crichton, to know everything. (It is an anxious moment, but a smile is at length extorted from CRICHTON as with a corkscrew.) CRICHTON. Thank you, sir. (He goes.) ERNEST (relieved). Ah, if you had that fellow's head, Treherne, you would find something better to do with it than play cricket. I hear you bowl with your head. TREHERNE (with proper humility). I'm afraid cricket is all I'm good for, Ernest. CATHERINE (who thinks he has a heavenly nose). Indeed, it isn't. You are sure to get on, Mr. Treherne. TREHERNE. Thank you, Lady Catherine. CATHERINE. But it was the bishop who told me so. He said a clergyman who breaks both ways is sure to get on in England. TREHERNE. I'm jolly glad. (The master of the house comes in, accompanied by LORD BROCKLEHURST. The EARL OF LOAM is a widower, a philanthropist, and a peer of advanced ideas. As a widower he is at least able to interfere in the domestic concerns of his house--to rummage in the drawers, so to speak, for which he has felt an itching all his blameless life; his philanthropy has opened quite a number of other drawers to him; and his advanced ideas have blown out his figure. He takes in all the weightiest monthly reviews, and prefers those that are uncut, because he perhaps never looks better than when cutting them; but he does not read them, and save for the cutting it would suit him as well merely to take in the covers. He writes letters to the papers, which are printed in a type to scale with himself, and he is very jealous of those other correspondents who get his type. Let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but leave the big type to an intellectual aristocracy. He is really the reformed House of Lords which will come some day. Young LORD BROCKLEHURST is nothing save for his rank. You could pick him up by the handful any day in Piccadilly or Holborn, buying socks--or selling them.) LORD LOAM (expansively). You are here, Ernest. Feeling fit for the voyage, Treherne? TREHERNE. Looking forward to it enormously. LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we had the servants in. They enjoy it so much. LADY MARY. They hate it. LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.) ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks. ERNEST. Mother pleased? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased. ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky. ERNEST. Mother don't like it? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.) LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready, Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.) LADY MARY (sarcastically). How Crichton enjoys it! LORD LOAM (frowning). He is the only one who doesn't; pitiful creature. CRICHTON (shuddering under his lord's displeasure). I can't help being a Conservative, my lord. LORD LOAM. Be a man, Crichton. You are the same flesh and blood as myself. CRICHTON (in pain). Oh, my lord! LORD LOAM (sharply). Show them in; and, by the way, they were not all here last time. CRICHTON. All, my lord, except the merest trifles. LORD LOAM. It must be every one. (Lowering.) And remember this, Crichton, for the time being you are my equal. (Testily.) I shall soon show you whether you are not my equal. Do as you are told. (CRICHTON departs to obey, and his lordship is now a general. He has no pity for his daughters, and uses a terrible threat.) And girls, remember, no condescension. The first who condescends recites. (This sends them skurrying to their labours.) By the way, Brocklehurst, can you do anything? LORD BROCKLEHURST. How do you mean? LORD LOAM. Can you do anything--with a penny or a handkerchief, make them disappear, for instance? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Good heavens, no. LORD LOAM. It's a pity. Every one in our position ought to be able to do something. Ernest, I shall probably ask you to say a few words; something bright and sparkling. ERNEST. But, my dear uncle, I have prepared nothing. LORD LOAM. Anything impromptu will do. ERNEST. Oh--well--if anything strikes me on the spur of the moment. (He unostentatiously gets the footstool into position behind the chair. CRICHTON reappears to announce the guests, of whom the first is the housekeeper.) CRICHTON (reluctantly). Mrs. Perkins. LORD LOAM (shaking hands). Very delighted, Mrs. Perkins. Mary, our friend, Mrs. Perkins. LADY MARY. How do you do, Mrs. Perkins? Won't you sit here? LORD LOAM (threateningly). Agatha! AGATHA (hastily). How do you do? Won't you sit down? LORD LOAM (introducing). Lord Brocklehurst--my valued friend, Mrs. Perkins. (LORD BROCKLEHURST bows and escapes. He has to fall back on ERNEST.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. For heaven's sake, Ernest, don't leave me for a moment; this sort of thing is utterly opposed to all my principles. ERNEST (airily). You stick to me, Brocky, and I'll pull you through. CRICHTON. Monsieur Fleury. ERNEST. The chef. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with the chef). Very charmed to see you, Monsieur Fleury. FLEURY. Thank you very much. (FLEURY bows to AGATHA, who is not effusive.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Agatha--recitation! (She tosses her head, but immediately finds a seat and tea for M. FLEURY. TREHERNE and ERNEST move about, making themselves amiable. LADY MARY is presiding at the tea-tray.) CRICHTON. Mr. Rolleston. LORD LOAM (shaking hands with his valet). How do you do, Rolleston? (CATHERINE looks after the wants of ROLLESTON.) CRICHTON. Mr. Tompsett. (TOMPSETT, the coachman, is received with honours, from which he shrinks.) CRICHTON. Miss Fisher. (This superb creature is no less than LADY MARY'S maid, and even LORD LOAM is a little nervous.) LORD LOAM. This is a pleasure, Miss Fisher. ERNEST (unabashed). If I might venture, Miss Fisher (and he takes her unto himself). CRICHTON. Miss Simmons. LORD LOAM (to CATHERINE'S maid). You are always welcome, Miss Simmons. ERNEST (perhaps to kindle jealousy in Miss FISHER). At last we meet. Won't you sit down? CRICHTON. Mademoiselle Jeanne. LORD LOAM. Charmed to see you, Mademoiselle Jeanne. (A place is found for AGATHA'S maid, and the scene is now an animated one; but still our host thinks his girls are not sufficiently sociable. He frowns on LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (in alarm). Mr. Treherne, this is Fisher, my maid. LORD LOAM (sharply). Your what, Mary? LADY MARY. My friend. CRICHTON. Thomas. LORD LOAM. How do you do, Thomas? (The first footman gives him a reluctant hand.) CRICHTON. John. LORD LOAM. How do you do, John? (ERNEST signs to LORD BROCKLEHURST, who hastens to him.) ERNEST (introducing). Brocklehurst, this is John. I think you have already met on the door-step. CRICHTON. Jane. (She comes, wrapping her hands miserably in her apron.) LORD LOAM (doggedly). Give me your hand, Jane. CRICHTON. Gladys. ERNEST. How do you do, Gladys. You know my uncle? LORD LOAM. Your hand, Gladys. (He bestows her on AGATHA.) CRICHTON. Tweeny. (She is a very humble and frightened kitchenmaid, of whom we are to see more.) LORD LOAM. So happy to see you. FISHER. John, I saw you talking to Lord Brocklehurst just now; introduce me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (at the same moment to ERNEST). That's an uncommon pretty girl; if I must feed one of them, Ernest, that's the one. (But ERNEST tries to part him and FISHER as they are about to shake hands.) ERNEST. No you don't, it won't do, Brocky. (To Miss FISHER.) You are too pretty, my dear. Mother wouldn't like it. (Discovering TWEENY.) Here's something safer. Charming girl, Brocky, dying to know you; let me introduce you. Tweeny, Lord Brocklehurst--Lord Brocklehurst, Tweeny. (BROCKLEHURST accepts his fate; but he still has an eye for FISHER, and something may come of this.) LORD LOAM (severely). They are not all here, Crichton. CRICHTON (with a sigh). Odds and ends. (A STABLE-BOY and a PAGE are shown in, and for a moment no daughter of the house advances to them.) LORD LOAM (with a roving eye on his children). Which is to recite? (The last of the company are, so to say, embraced.) LORD LOAM (to TOMPSETT, as they partake of tea together). And how are all at home? TOMPSETT. Fairish, my lord, if 'tis the horses you are inquiring for? LORD LOAM. No, no, the family. How's the baby? TOMPSETT. Blooming, your lordship. LORD LOAM. A very fine boy. I remember saying so when I saw him; nice little fellow. TOMPSETT (not quite knowing whether to let it pass). Beg pardon, my lord, it's a girl. LORD LOAM. A girl? Aha! ha! ha! exactly what I said. I distinctly remember saying, If it's spared it will be a girl. (CRICHTON now comes down.) LORD LOAM. Very delighted to see you, Crichton. (CRICHTON has to shake hands.) Mary, you know Mr. Crichton? (He wanders off in search of other prey.) LADY MARY. Milk and sugar, Crichton? CRICHTON. I'm ashamed to be seen talking to you, my lady. LADY MARY. To such a perfect servant as you all this must be most distasteful. (CRICHTON is too respectful to answer.) Oh, please do speak, or I shall have to recite. You do hate it, don't you? CRICHTON. It pains me, your ladyship. It disturbs the etiquette of the servants' hall. After last month's meeting the pageboy, in a burst of equality, called me Crichton. He was dismissed. LADY MARY. I wonder--I really do--how you can remain with us. CRICHTON. I should have felt compelled to give notice, my lady, if the master had not had a seat in the Upper House. I cling to that. LADY MARY. Do go on speaking. Tell me, what did Mr. Ernest mean by saying he was not young enough to know everything? CRICHTON. I have no idea, my lady. LADY MARY. But you laughed. CRICHTON. My lady, he is the second son of a peer. LADY MARY. Very proper sentiments. You are a good soul, Crichton. LORD BROCKLEHURST (desperately to TWEENY). And now tell me, have you been to the Opera? What sort of weather have you been having in the kitchen? (TWEENY gurgles.) For Heaven's sake, woman, be articulate. CRICHTON (still talking to LADY MARY). No, my lady; his lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants' hall. LORD LOAM (overhearing this). What's that? No equality? Can't you see, Crichton, that our divisions into classes are artificial, that if we were to return to nature, which is the aspiration of my life, all would be equal? CRICHTON. If I may make so bold as to contradict your lordship-- LORD LOAM (with an effort). Go on. CRICHTON. The divisions into classes, my lord, are not artificial. They are the natural outcome of a civilised society. (To LADY MARY.) There must always be a master and servants in all civilised communities, my lady, for it is natural, and whatever is natural is right. LORD LOAM (wincing). It is very unnatural for me to stand here and allow you to talk such nonsense. CRICHTON (eagerly). Yes, my lord, it is. That is what I have been striving to point out to your lordship. AGATHA (to CATHERINE). What is the matter with Fisher? She is looking daggers. CATHERINE. The tedious creature; some question of etiquette, I suppose. (She sails across to FISHER.) How are you, Fisher? FISHER (with a toss of her head). I am nothing, my lady, I am nothing at all. AGATHA. Oh dear, who says so? FISHER (affronted). His lordship has asked that kitchen wench to have a second cup of tea. CATHERINE. But why not? FISHER. If it pleases his lordship to offer it to her before offering it to me-- AGATHA. So that is it. Do you want another cup of tea, Fisher? FISHER. No, my lady--but my position--I should have been asked first. AGATHA. Oh dear. (All this has taken some time, and by now the feeble appetites of the uncomfortable guests have been satiated. But they know there is still another ordeal to face--his lordship's monthly speech. Every one awaits it with misgiving--the servants lest they should applaud, as last time, in the wrong place, and the daughters because he may be personal about them, as the time before. ERNEST is annoyed that there should be this speech at all when there is such a much better one coming, and BROCKLEHURST foresees the degradation of the peerage. All are thinking of themselves alone save CRICHTON, who knows his master's weakness, and fears he may stick in the middle. LORD LOAM, however, advances cheerfully to his doom. He sees ERNEST'S stool, and artfully stands on it, to his nephew's natural indignation. The three ladies knit their lips, the servants look down their noses, and the address begins.) LORD LOAM. My friends, I am glad to see you all looking so happy. It used to be predicted by the scoffer that these meetings would prove distasteful to you. Are they distasteful? I hear you laughing at the question. (He has not heard them, but he hears them now, the watchful CRICHTON giving them a lead.) No harm in saying that among us to-day is one who was formerly hostile to the movement, but who to-day has been won over. I refer to Lord Brocklehurst, who, I am sure, will presently say to me that if the charming lady now by his side has derived as much pleasure from his company as he has derived from hers, he will be more than satisfied. (All look at TWEENY, who trembles.) For the time being the artificial and unnatural--I say unnatural (glaring at CRICHTON, who bows slightly)--barriers of society are swept away. Would that they could be swept away for ever. (The PAGEBOY cheers, and has the one moment of prominence in his life. He grows up, marries and has children, but is never really heard of again.) But that is entirely and utterly out of the question. And now for a few months we are to be separated. As you know, my daughters and Mr. Ernest and Mr. Treherne are to accompany me on my yacht, on a voyage to distant parts of the earth. In less than forty-eight hours we shall be under weigh. (But for CRICHTON'S eye the reckless PAGEBOY would repeat his success.) Do not think our life on the yacht is to be one long idle holiday. My views on the excessive luxury of the day are well known, and what I preach I am resolved to practise. I have therefore decided that my daughters, instead of having one maid each as at present, shall on this voyage have but one maid between them. (Three maids rise; also three mistresses.) CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. My mind is made up. ERNEST. I cordially agree. LORD LOAM. And now, my friends, I should like to think that there is some piece of advice I might give you, some thought, some noble saying over which you might ponder in my absence. In this connection I remember a proverb, which has had a great effect on my own life. I first heard it many years ago. I have never forgotten it. It constantly cheers and guides me. That proverb is--that proverb was--the proverb I speak of-- (He grows pale and taps his forehead.) LADY MARY. Oh dear, I believe he has forgotten it. LORD LOAM (desperately). The proverb--that proverb to which I refer-- (Alas, it has gone. The distress is general. He has not even the sense to sit down. He gropes for the proverb in the air. They try applause, but it is no help.) I have it now--(not he). LADY MARY (with confidence). Crichton. (He does not fail her. As quietly as if he were in goloshes, mind as well as feet, he dismisses the domestics; they go according to precedence as they entered, yet, in a moment, they are gone. Then he signs to MR. TREHERNE, and they conduct LORD LOAM with dignity from the room. His hands are still catching flies; he still mutters, 'The proverb--that proverb'; but he continues, owing to CRICHTON'S skilful treatment, to look every inch a peer. The ladies have now an opportunity to air their indignation.) LADY MARY. One maid among three grown women! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary, I think I had better go. That dreadful kitchenmaid-- LADY MARY. I can't blame you, George. (He salutes her.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. Your father's views are shocking to me, and I am glad I am not to be one of the party on the yacht. My respect for myself, Mary, my natural anxiety as to what mother will say. I shall see you, darling, before you sail. (He bows to the others and goes.) ERNEST. Selfish brute, only thinking of himself. What about my speech? LADY MARY. One maid among three of us. What's to be done? ERNEST. Pooh! You must do for yourselves, that's all. LADY MARY. Do for ourselves. How can we know where our things are kept? AGATHA. Are you aware that dresses button up the back? CATHERINE. How are we to get into our shoes and be prepared for the carriage? LADY MARY. Who is to put us to bed, and who is to get us up, and how shall we ever know it's morning if there is no one to pull up the blinds? (CRICHTON crosses on his way out.) ERNEST. How is his lordship now? CRICHTON. A little easier, sir. LADY MARY. Crichton, send Fisher to me. (He goes.) ERNEST. I have no pity for you girls, I-- LADY MARY. Ernest, go away, and don't insult the broken-hearted. ERNEST. And uncommon glad I am to go. Ta-ta, all of you. He asked me to say a few words. I came here to say a few words, and I'm not at all sure that I couldn't bring an action against him. (He departs, feeling that he has left a dart behind him. The girls are alone with their tragic thoughts.) LADY MARY (becomes a mother to the younger ones at last). My poor sisters, come here. (They go to her doubtfully.) We must make this draw us closer together. I shall do my best to help you in every way. Just now I cannot think of myself at all. AGATHA. But how unlike you, Mary. LADY MARY. It is my duty to protect my sisters. CATHERINE. I never knew her so sweet before, Agatha. (Cautiously.) What do you propose to do, Mary? LADY MARY. I propose when we are on the yacht to lend Fisher to you when I don't need her myself. AGATHA. Fisher? LADY MARY (who has the most character of the three). Of course, as the eldest, I have decided that it is my maid we shall take with us. CATHERINE (speaking also for AGATHA). Mary, you toad. AGATHA. Nothing on earth would induce Fisher to lift her hand for either me or Catherine. LADY MARY. I was afraid of it, Agatha. That is why I am so sorry for you. (The further exchange of pleasantries is interrupted by the arrival of FISHER.) LADY MARY. Fisher, you heard what his lordship said? FISHER. Yes, my lady. LADY MARY (coldly, though the others would have tried blandishment). You have given me some satisfaction of late, Fisher, and to mark my approval I have decided that you shall be the maid who accompanies us. FISHER (acidly). I thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. That is all; you may go. FISHER (rapping it out). If you please, my lady, I wish to give notice. (CATHERINE and AGATHA gleam, but LADY MARY is of sterner stuff.) LADY MARY (taking up a book). Oh, certainly--you may go. CATHERINE. But why, Fisher? FISHER. I could not undertake, my lady, to wait upon three. We don't do it. (In an indignant outburst to LADY MARY.) Oh, my lady, to think that this affront-- LADY MARY (looking up). I thought I told you to go, Fisher. (FISHER stands for a moment irresolute; then goes. As soon as she has gone LADY MARY puts down her book and weeps. She is a pretty woman, but this is the only pretty thing we have seen her do yet.) AGATHA (succinctly). Serves you right. (CRICHTON comes.) CATHERINE. It will be Simmons after all. Send Simmons to me. CRICHTON (after hesitating). My lady, might I venture to speak? CATHERINE. What is it? CRICHTON. I happen to know, your ladyship, that Simmons desires to give notice for the same reason as Fisher. CATHERINE. Oh! AGATHA (triumphant). Then, Catherine, we take Jeanne. CRICHTON. And Jeanne also, my lady. (LADY MARY is reading, indifferent though the heavens fall, but her sisters are not ashamed to show their despair to CRICHTON.) AGATHA. We can't blame them. Could any maid who respected herself be got to wait upon three? LADY MARY (with languid interest). I suppose there are such persons, Crichton? CRICHTON (guardedly). I have heard, my lady, that there are such. LADY MARY (a little desperate). Crichton, what's to be done? We sail in two days; could one be discovered in the time? AGATHA (frankly a supplicant). Surely you can think of some one? CRICHTON (after hesitating). There is in this establishment, your ladyship, a young woman-- LADY MARY. Yes? CRICHTON. A young woman, on whom I have for some time cast an eye. CATHERINE (eagerly). Do you mean as a possible lady's-maid? CRICHTON. I had thought of her, my lady, in another connection. LADY MARY. Ah! CRICHTON. But I believe she is quite the young person you require. Perhaps if you could see her, my lady-- LADY MARY. I shall certainly see her. Bring her to me. (He goes.) You two needn't wait. CATHERINE. Needn't we? We see your little game, Mary. AGATHA. We shall certainly remain and have our two-thirds of her. (They sit there doggedly until CRICHTON returns with TWEENY, who looks scared.) CRICHTON. This, my lady, is the young person. CATHERINE (frankly). Oh dear! (It is evident that all three consider her quite unsuitable.) LADY MARY. Come here, girl. Don't be afraid. (TWEENY looks imploringly at her idol.) CRICHTON. Her appearance, my lady, is homely, and her manners, as you may have observed, deplorable, but she has a heart of gold. LADY MARY. What is your position downstairs? TWEENY (bobbing). I'm a tweeny, your ladyship. CATHERINE. A what? CRICHTON. A tweeny; that is to say, my lady, she is not at present, strictly speaking, anything; a between maid; she helps the vegetable maid. It is she, my lady, who conveys the dishes from the one end of the kitchen table, where they are placed by the cook, to the other end, where they enter into the charge of Thomas and John. LADY MARY. I see. And you and Crichton are--ah--keeping company? (CRICHTON draws himself up.) TWEENY (aghast). A butler don't keep company, my lady. LADY MARY (indifferently). Does he not? CRICHTON. No, your ladyship, we butlers may--(he makes a gesture with his arms)--but we do not keep company. AGATHA. I know what it is; you are engaged? (TWEENY looks longingly at CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Certainly not, my lady. The utmost I can say at present is that I have cast a favourable eye. (Even this is much to TWEENY.) LADY MARY. As you choose. But I am afraid, Crichton, she will not suit us. CRICHTON. My lady, beneath this simple exterior are concealed a very sweet nature and rare womanly gifts. AGATHA. Unfortunately, that is not what we want. CRICHTON. And it is she, my lady, who dresses the hair of the ladies'-maids for our evening meals. (The ladies are interested at last.) LADY MARY. She dresses Fisher's hair? TWEENY. Yes, my lady, and I does them up when they goes to parties. CRICHTON (pained, but not scolding). Does! TWEENY. Doos. And it's me what alters your gowns to fit them. CRICHTON. What alters! TWEENY. Which alters. AGATHA. Mary? LADY MARY. I shall certainly have her. CATHERINE. We shall certainly have her. Tweeny, we have decided to make a lady's-maid of you. TWEENY. Oh lawks! AGATHA. We are doing this for you so that your position socially may be more nearly akin to that of Crichton. CRICHTON (gravely). It will undoubtedly increase the young person's chances. LADY MARY. Then if I get a good character for you from Mrs. Perkins, she will make the necessary arrangements. (She resumes reading.) TWEENY (elated). My lady! LADY MARY. By the way, I hope you are a good sailor. TWEENY (startled). You don't mean, my lady, I'm to go on the ship? LADY MARY. Certainly. TWEENY. But--(To CRICHTON.) You ain't going, sir? CRICHTON. No. TWEENY (firm at last). Then neither ain't I. AGATHA. YOU must. TWEENY. Leave him! Not me. LADY MARY. Girl, don't be silly. Crichton will be--considered in your wages. TWEENY. I ain't going. CRICHTON. I feared this, my lady. TWEENY. Nothing'll budge me. LADY MARY. Leave the room. (CRICHTON shows TWEENY out with marked politeness.) AGATHA. Crichton, I think you might have shown more displeasure with her. CRICHTON (contrite). I was touched, my lady. I see, my lady, that to part from her would be a wrench to me, though I could not well say so in her presence, not having yet decided how far I shall go with her. (He is about to go when LORD LOAM returns, fuming.) LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The smug! The fop! CATHERINE. What is it now, father? LORD LOAM. That man of mine, Rolleston, refuses to accompany us because you are to have but one maid. AGATHA. Hurrah! LADY MARY (in better taste). Darling father, rather than you should lose Rolleston, we will consent to take all the three of them. LORD LOAM. Pooh, nonsense! Crichton, find me a valet who can do without three maids. CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. (Troubled.) In the time--the more suitable the party, my lord, the less willing will he be to come without the--the usual perquisites. LORD LOAM. Any one will do. CRICHTON (shocked). My lord! LORD LOAM. The ingrate! The puppy! (AGATHA has an idea, and whispers to LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. I ask a favour of a servant?--never! AGATHA. Then I will. Crichton, would it not be very distressing to you to let his lordship go, attended by a valet who might prove unworthy? It is only for three months; don't you think that you--you yourself--you-- (As CRICHTON sees what she wants he pulls himself up with noble, offended dignity, and she is appalled.) I beg your pardon. (He bows stiffly.) CATHERINE (to CRICHTON). But think of the joy to Tweeny. (CRICHTON is moved, but he shakes his head.) LADY MARY (so much the cleverest). Crichton, do you think it safe to let the master you love go so far away without you while he has these dangerous views about equality? (CRICHTON is profoundly stirred. After a struggle he goes to his master, who has been pacing the room.) CRICHTON. My lord, I have found a man. LORD LOAM. Already? Who is he? (CRICHTON presents himself with a gesture.) Yourself? CATHERINE. Father, how good of him. LORD LOAM (pleased, but thinking it a small thing). Uncommon good. Thank you, Crichton. This helps me nicely out of a hole; and how it will annoy Rolleston! Come with me, and we shall tell him. Not that I think you have lowered yourself in any way. Come along. (He goes, and CRICHTON is to follow him, but is stopped by AGATHA impulsively offering him her hand.) CRICHTON (who is much shaken). My lady--a valet's hand! AGATHA. I had no idea you would feel it so deeply; why did you do it? (CRICHTON is too respectful to reply.) LADY MARY (regarding him). Crichton, I am curious. I insist upon an answer. CRICHTON. My lady, I am the son of a butler and a lady's-maid--perhaps the happiest of all combinations, and to me the most beautiful thing in the world is a haughty, aristocratic English house, with every one kept in his place. Though I were equal to your ladyship, where would be the pleasure to me? It would be counterbalanced by the pain of feeling that Thomas and John were equal to me. CATHERINE. But father says if we were to return to nature-- CRICHTON. If we did, my lady, the first thing we should do would be to elect a head. Circumstances might alter cases; the same person might not be master; the same persons might not be servants. I can't say as to that, nor should we have the deciding of it. Nature would decide for us. LADY MARY. You seem to have thought it all out carefully, Crichton. CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. CATHERINE. And you have done this for us, Crichton, because you thought that--that father needed to be kept in his place? CRICHTON. I should prefer you to say, my lady, that I have done it for the house. AGATHA. Thank you, Crichton. Mary, be nicer to him. (But LADY MARY has begun to read again.) If there was any way in which we could show our gratitude. CRICHTON. If I might venture, my lady, would you kindly show it by becoming more like Lady Mary. That disdain is what we like from our superiors. Even so do we, the upper servants, disdain the lower servants, while they take it out of the odds and ends. (He goes, and they bury themselves in cushions.) AGATHA. Oh dear, what a tiring day. CATHERINE. I feel dead. Tuck in your feet, you selfish thing. (LADY MARY is lying reading on another couch.) LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by circumstances might alter cases. AGATHA (yawning). Don't talk, Mary, I was nearly asleep. LADY MARY. I wonder what he meant by the same person might not be master, and the same persons might not be servants. CATHERINE. Do be quiet, Mary, and leave it to nature; he said nature would decide. LADY MARY. I wonder-- (But she does not wonder very much. She would wonder more if she knew what was coming. Her book slips unregarded to the floor. The ladies are at rest until it is time to dress.) End of Act I. ACT II. THE ISLAND Two months have elapsed, and the scene is a desert island in the Pacific, on which our adventurers have been wrecked. The curtain rises on a sea of bamboo, which shuts out all view save the foliage of palm trees and some gaunt rocks. Occasionally Crichton and Treherne come momentarily into sight, hacking and hewing the bamboo, through which they are making a clearing between the ladies and the shore; and by and by, owing to their efforts, we shall have an unrestricted outlook on to a sullen sea that is at present hidden. Then we shall also be able to note a mast standing out of the water--all that is left, saving floating wreckage, of the ill-fated yacht the Bluebell. The beginnings of a hut will also be seen, with Crichton driving its walls into the ground or astride its roof of saplings, for at present he is doing more than one thing at a time. In a red shirt, with the ends of his sailor's breeches thrust into wading-boots, he looks a man for the moment; we suddenly remember some one's saying--perhaps it was ourselves--that a cataclysm would be needed to get him out of his servant's clothes, and apparently it has been forthcoming. It is no longer beneath our dignity to cast an inquiring eye on his appearance. His features are not distinguished, but he has a strong jaw and green eyes, in which a yellow light burns that we have not seen before. His dark hair, hitherto so decorously sleek, has been ruffled this way and that by wind and weather, as if they were part of the cataclysm and wanted to help his chance. His muscles must be soft and flabby still, but though they shriek aloud to him to desist, he rains lusty blows with his axe, like one who has come upon the open for the first time in his life, and likes it. He is as yet far from being an expert woodsman--mark the blood on his hands at places where he has hit them instead of the tree; but note also that he does not waste time in bandaging them--he rubs them in the earth and goes on. His face is still of the discreet pallor that befits a butler, and he carries the smaller logs as if they were a salver; not in a day or a month will he shake off the badge of servitude, but without knowing it he has begun. But for the hatchets at work, and an occasional something horrible falling from a tree into the ladies' laps, they hear nothing save the mournful surf breaking on a coral shore. They sit or recline huddled together against a rock, and they are farther from home, in every sense of the word, than ever before. Thirty-six hours ago, they were given three minutes in which to dress, without a maid, and reach the boats, and they have not made the best of that valuable time. None of them has boots, and had they known this prickly island they would have thought first of boots. They have a sufficiency of garments, but some of them were gifts dropped into the boat--Lady Mary's tarpaulin coat and hat, for instance, and Catherine's blue jersey and red cap, which certify that the two ladies were lately before the mast. Agatha is too gay in Ernest's dressing-gown, and clutches it to her person with both hands as if afraid that it may be claimed by its rightful owner. There are two pairs of bath slippers between the three of them, and their hair cries aloud and in vain for hairpins. By their side, on an inverted bucket, sits Ernest, clothed neatly in the garments of day and night, but, alas, bare-footed. He is the only cheerful member of this company of four, but his brightness is due less to a manly desire to succour the helpless than to his having been lately in the throes of composition, and to his modest satisfaction with the result. He reads to the ladies, and they listen, each with one scared eye to the things that fall from trees. ERNEST (who has written on the fly-leaf of the only book saved from the wreck). This is what I have written. 'Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! on an island in the Tropics, the following: the Hon. Ernest Woolley, the Rev. John Treherne, the Ladies Mary, Catherine, and Agatha Lasenby, with two servants. We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Bluebell, which encountered a fearful gale in these seas, and soon became a total wreck. The crew behaved gallantly, putting us all into the first boat. What became of them I cannot tell, but we, after dreadful sufferings, and insufficiently clad, in whatever garments we could lay hold of in the dark'-- LADY MARY. Please don't describe our garments. ERNEST.--'succeeded in reaching this island, with the loss of only one of our party, namely, Lord Loam, who flung away his life in a gallant attempt to save a servant who had fallen overboard.' (The ladies have wept long and sore for their father, but there is something in this last utterance that makes them look up.) AGATHA. But, Ernest, it was Crichton who jumped overboard trying to save father. ERNEST (with the candour that is one of his most engaging qualities). Well, you know, it was rather silly of uncle to fling away his life by trying to get into the boat first; and as this document may be printed in the English papers, it struck me, an English peer, you know-- LADY MARY (every inch an English peer's daughter). Ernest, that is very thoughtful of you. ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--'By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely'--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--'terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat'-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H'sh! Oh, do be quiet.--'To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.' LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that's all. I end up, 'Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.' This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn't miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist's right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don't. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don't, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady? LADY MARY (herself again, now that he is there). I! Why should I? CRICHTON. I made a mistake, your ladyship. (Hesitating.) If you are afraid of being alone, my lady-- LADY MARY. Afraid! Certainly not. (Doggedly.) You may go. (But she does not complain when he remains within eyesight cutting the bamboo. It is heavy work, and she watches him silently.) LADY MARY. I wish, Crichton, you could work without getting so hot. CRICHTON (mopping his face). I wish I could, my lady. (He continues his labours.) LADY MARY (taking off her oilskins). It makes me hot to look at you. CRICHTON. It almost makes me cool to look at your ladyship. LADY MARY (who perhaps thinks he is presuming). Anything I can do for you in that way, Crichton, I shall do with pleasure. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Thank you, my lady. (By this time most of the bamboo has been cut, and the shore and sea are visible, except where they are hidden by the half completed hut. The mast rising solitary from the water adds to the desolation of the scene, and at last tears run down LADY MARY'S face.) CRICHTON. Don't give way, my lady, things might be worse. LADY MARY. My poor father. CRICHTON. If I could have given my life for his. LADY MARY. You did all a man could do. Indeed I thank you, Crichton. (With some admiration and more wonder.) You are a man. CRICHTON. Thank you, my lady. LADY MARY. But it is all so awful. Crichton, is there any hope of a ship coming? CRICHTON (after hesitation). Of course there is, my lady. LADY MARY (facing him bravely). Don't treat me as a child. I have got to know the worst, and to face it. Crichton, the truth. CRICHTON (reluctantly). We were driven out of our course, my lady; I fear far from the track of commerce. LADY MARY. Thank you; I understand. (For a moment, however, she breaks down. Then she clenches her hands and stands erect.) CRICHTON (watching her, and forgetting perhaps for the moment that they are not just a man and woman). You're a good pluckt 'un, my lady. LADY MARY (falling into the same error). I shall try to be. (Extricating herself.) Crichton, how dare you? CRICHTON. I beg your ladyship's pardon; but you are. (She smiles, as if it were a comfort to be told this even by CRICHTON.) And until a ship comes we are three men who are going to do our best for you ladies. LADY MARY (with a curl of the lip). Mr. Ernest does no work. CRICHTON (cheerily). But he will, my lady. LADY MARY. I doubt it. CRICHTON (confidently, but perhaps thoughtlessly). No work--no dinner--will make a great change in Mr. Ernest. LADY MARY. No work--no dinner. When did you invent that rule, Crichton? CRICHTON (loaded with bamboo). I didn't invent it, my lady. I seem to see it growing all over the island. LADY MARY (disquieted). Crichton, your manner strikes me as curious. CRICHTON (pained). I hope not, your ladyship. LADY MARY (determined to have it out with him). You are not implying anything so unnatural, I presume, as that if I and my sisters don't work there will be no dinner for us? CRICHTON (brightly). If it is unnatural, my lady, that is the end of it. LADY MARY. If? Now I understand. The perfect servant at home holds that we are all equal now. I see. CRICHTON (wounded to the quick). My lady, can you think me so inconsistent? LADY MARY. That is it. CRICHTON (earnestly). My lady, I disbelieved in equality at home because it was against nature, and for that same reason I as utterly disbelieve in it on an island. LADY MARY (relieved by his obvious sincerity). I apologise. CRICHTON (continuing unfortunately). There must always, my lady, be one to command and others to obey. LADY MARY (satisfied). One to command, others to obey. Yes. (Then suddenly she realises that there may be a dire meaning in his confident words.) Crichton! CRICHTON (who has intended no dire meaning). What is it, my lady? (But she only stares into his face and then hurries from him. Left alone he is puzzled, but being a practical man he busies himself gathering firewood, until TWEENY appears excitedly carrying cocoa-nuts in her skirt. She has made better use than the ladies of her three minutes' grace for dressing.) TWEENY (who can be happy even on an island if CRICHTON is with her). Look what I found. CRICHTON. Cocoa-nuts. Bravo! TWEENY. They grows on trees. CRICHTON. Where did you think they grew? TWEENY. I thought as how they grew in rows on top of little sticks. CRICHTON (wrinkling his brows). Oh Tweeny, Tweeny! TWEENY (anxiously). Have I offended of your feelings again, sir? CRICHTON. A little. TWEENY (in a despairing outburst). I'm full o' vulgar words and ways; and though I may keep them in their holes when you are by, as soon as I'm by myself out they comes in a rush like beetles when the house is dark. I says them gloating-like, in my head--'Blooming' I says, and 'All my eye,' and 'Ginger,' and 'Nothink'; and all the time we was being wrecked I was praying to myself, 'Please the Lord it may be an island as it's natural to be vulgar on.' (A shudder passes through CRICHTON, and she is abject.) That's the kind I am, sir. I'm 'opeless. You'd better give me up. (She is a pathetic, forlorn creature, and his manhood is stirred.) CRICHTON (wondering a little at himself for saying it). I won't give you up. It is strange that one so common should attract one so fastidious; but so it is. (Thoughtfully.) There is something about you, Tweeny, there is a je ne sais quoi about you. TWEENY (knowing only that he has found something in her to commend). Is there, is there? Oh, I am glad. CRICHTON (putting his hand on her shoulder like a protector). We shall fight your vulgarity together. (All this time he has been arranging sticks for his fire.) Now get some dry grass. (She brings him grass, and he puts it under the sticks. He produces an odd lens from his pocket, and tries to focus the sun's rays.) TWEENY. Why, what's that? CRICHTON (the ingenious creature). That's the glass from my watch and one from Mr. Treherne's, with a little water between them. I'm hoping to kindle a fire with it. TWEENY (properly impressed). Oh sir! (After one failure the grass takes fire, and they are blowing on it when excited cries near by bring them sharply to their feet. AGATHA runs to them, white of face, followed by ERNEST.) ERNEST. Danger! Crichton, a tiger-cat! CRICHTON (getting his cutlass). Where? AGATHA. It is at our heels. ERNEST. Look out, Crichton. CRICHTON. H'sh! (TREHERNE comes to his assistance, while LADY MARY and CATHERINE join AGATHA in the hut.) ERNEST. It will be on us in a moment. (He seizes the hatchet and guards the hut. It is pleasing to see that ERNEST is no coward.) TREHERNE. Listen! ERNEST. The grass is moving. It's coming. (It comes. But it is no tiger-cat; it is LORD LOAM crawling on his hands and knees, a very exhausted and dishevelled peer, wondrously attired in rags. The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into his arms.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh dear! LADY MARY. Darling. AGATHA. Sweetest. CATHERINE. Love. TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir. ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle. (For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is thoughtless.) TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat. LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran. (ERNEST smiles forgivingly.) CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad. ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton. (Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time. To work, to work. CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir. (He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire, which is now burning brightly.) TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil. Crichton, let me help. (He is soon busy helping CRICHTON to add to the strength of the hut.) LORD LOAM (gazing at the pot as ladies are said to gaze on precious stones). Is that--but I suppose I'm dreaming again. (Timidly.) It isn't by any chance a pot on top of a fire, is it? LADY MARY. Indeed, it is, dearest. It is our supper. LORD LOAM. I have been dreaming of a pot on a fire for two days. (Quivering.) There 's nothing in it, is there? ERNEST. Sniff, uncle. (LORD LOAM sniffs.) LORD LOAM (reverently). It smells of onions! (There is a sudden diversion.) CATHERINE. Father, you have boots! LADY MARY. So he has. LORD LOAM. Of course I have. ERNEST (with greedy cunning). You are actually wearing boots, uncle. It's very unsafe, you know, in this climate. LORD LOAM. Is it? ERNEST. We have all abandoned them, you observe. The blood, the arteries, you know. LORD LOAM. I hadn't a notion. (He holds out his feet, and ERNEST kneels.) ERNEST. O Lord, yes. (In another moment those boots will be his.) LADY MARY (quickly). Father, he is trying to get your boots from you. There is nothing in the world we wouldn't give for boots. ERNEST (rising haughtily, a proud spirit misunderstood). I only wanted the loan of them. AGATHA (running her fingers along them lovingly). If you lend them to any one, it will be to us, won't it, father. LORD LOAM. Certainly, my child. ERNEST. Oh, very well. (He is leaving these selfish ones.) I don't want your old boots. (He gives his uncle a last chance.) You don't think you could spare me one boot? LORD LOAM (tartly). I do not. ERNEST. Quite so. Well, all I can say is I'm sorry for you. (He departs to recline elsewhere.) LADY MARY. Father, we thought we should never see you again. LORD LOAM. I was washed ashore, my dear, clinging to a hencoop. How awful that first night was. LADY MARY. Poor father. LORD LOAM. When I woke, I wept. Then I began to feel extremely hungry. There was a large turtle on the beach. I remembered from the Swiss Family Robinson that if you turn a turtle over he is helpless. My dears, I crawled towards him, I flung myself upon him--(here he pauses to rub his leg)--the nasty, spiteful brute. LADY MARY. You didn't turn him over? LORD LOAM (vindictively, though he is a kindly man). Mary, the senseless thing wouldn't wait; I found that none of them would wait. CATHERINE. We should have been as badly off if Crichton hadn't-- LADY MARY (quickly). Don't praise Crichton. LORD LOAM. And then those beastly monkeys, I always understood that if you flung stones at them they would retaliate by flinging cocoa-nuts at you. Would you believe it, I flung a hundred stones, and not one monkey had sufficient intelligence to grasp my meaning. How I longed for Crichton. LADY MARY (wincing). For us also, father? LORD LOAM. For you also. I tried for hours to make a fire. The authors say that when wrecked on an island you can obtain a light by rubbing two pieces of stick together. (With feeling.) The liars! LADY MARY. And all this time you thought there was no one on the island but yourself? LORD LOAM. I thought so until this morning. I was searching the pools for little fishes, which I caught in my hat, when suddenly I saw before me--on the sand-- CATHERINE. What? LORD LOAM. A hairpin. LADY MARY. A hairpin! It must be one of ours. Give it me, father. AGATHA. No, it's mine. LORD LOAM. I didn't keep it. LADY MARY (speaking for all three). Didn't keep it? Found a hairpin on an island, and didn't keep it? LORD LOAM (humbly). My dears. AGATHA (scarcely to be placated). Oh father, we have returned to nature more than you bargained for. LADY MARY. For shame, Agatha. (She has something on her mind.) Father, there is something I want you to do at once--I mean to assert your position as the chief person on the island. (They are all surprised.) LORD LOAM. But who would presume to question it? CATHERINE. She must mean Ernest. LADY MARY. Must I? AGATHA. It's cruel to say anything against Ernest. LORD LOAM (firmly). If any one presumes to challenge my position, I shall make short work of him. AGATHA. Here comes Ernest; now see if you can say these horrid things to his face. LORD LOAM. I shall teach him his place at once. LADY MARY (anxiously). But how? LORD LOAM (chuckling). I have just thought of an extremely amusing way of doing it. (As ERNEST approaches.) Ernest. ERNEST (loftily). Excuse me, uncle, I'm thinking. I'm planning out the building of this hut. LORD LOAM. I also have been thinking. ERNEST. That don't matter. LORD LOAM. Eh? ERNEST. Please, please, this is important. LORD LOAM. I have been thinking that I ought to give you my boots. ERNEST. What! LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (genially). Take them, my boy. (With a rapidity we had not thought him capable of, ERNEST becomes the wearer of the boots.) And now I dare say you want to know why I give them to you, Ernest? ERNEST (moving up and down in them deliciously). Not at all. The great thing is, 'I've got 'em, I've got 'em.' LORD LOAM (majestically, but with a knowing look at his daughters). My reason is that, as head of our little party, you, Ernest, shall be our hunter, you shall clear the forests of those savage beasts that make them so dangerous. (Pleasantly.) And now you know, my dear nephew, why I have given you my boots. ERNEST. This is my answer. (He kicks off the boots.) LADY MARY (still anxious). Father, assert yourself. LORD LOAM. I shall now assert myself. (But how to do it? He has a happy thought.) Call Crichton. LADY MARY. Oh father. (CRICHTON comes in answer to a summons, and is followed by TREHERNE.) ERNEST (wondering a little at LADY MARY'S grave face). Crichton, look here. LORD LOAM (sturdily). Silence! Crichton, I want your advice as to what I ought to do with Mr. Ernest. He has defied me. ERNEST. Pooh! CRICHTON (after considering). May I speak openly, my lord? LADY MARY (keeping her eyes fixed on him). That is what we desire. CRICHTON (quite humbly). Then I may say, your lordship, that I have been considering Mr. Ernest's case at odd moments ever since we were wrecked. ERNEST. My case? LORD LOAM (sternly). Hush. CRICHTON. Since we landed on the island, my lord, it seems to me that Mr. Ernest's epigrams have been particularly brilliant. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Crichton. CRICHTON. But I find--I seem to find it growing wild, my lord, in the woods, that sayings which would be justly admired in England are not much use on an island. I would therefore most respectfully propose that henceforth every time Mr. Ernest favours us with an epigram his head should be immersed in a bucket of cold spring water. (There is a terrible silence.) LORD LOAM (uneasily). Serve him right. ERNEST. I should like to see you try to do it, uncle. CRICHTON (ever ready to come to the succour of his lordship). My feeling, my lord, is that at the next offence I should convey him to a retired spot, where I shall carry out the undertaking in as respectful a manner as is consistent with a thorough immersion. (Though his manner is most respectful, he is firm; he evidently means what he says.) LADY MARY (a ramrod). Father, you must not permit this; Ernest is your nephew. LORD LOAM (with his hand to his brow). After all, he is my nephew, Crichton; and, as I am sure, he now sees that I am a strong man-- ERNEST (foolishly in the circumstances). A strong man. You mean a stout man. You are one of mind to two of matter. (He looks round in the old way for approval. No one has smiled, and to his consternation he sees that CRICHTON is quietly turning up his sleeves. ERNEST makes an appealing gesture to his uncle; then he turns defiantly to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON. Is it to be before the ladies, Mr. Ernest, or in the privacy of the wood? (He fixes ERNEST with his eye. ERNEST is cowed.) Come. ERNEST (affecting bravado). Oh, all right. CRICHTON (succinctly). Bring the bucket. (ERNEST hesitates. He then lifts the bucket and follows CRICHTON to the nearest spring.) LORD LOAM (rather white). I'm sorry for him, but I had to be firm. LADY MARY. Oh father, it wasn't you who was firm. Crichton did it himself. LORD LOAM. Bless me, so he did. LADY MARY. Father, be strong. LORD LOAM (bewildered). You can't mean that my faithful Crichton-- LADY MARY. Yes, I do. TREHERNE. Lady Mary, I stake my word that Crichton is incapable of acting dishonourably. LADY MARY. I know that; I know it as well as you. Don't you see that that is what makes him so dangerous? TREHERNE. By Jove, I--I believe I catch your meaning. CATHERINE. He is coming back. LORD LOAM (who has always known himself to be a man of ideas). Let us all go into the hut, just to show him at once that it is our hut. LADY MARY (as they go). Father, I implore you, assert yourself now and for ever. LORD LOAM. I will. LADY MARY. And, please, don't ask him how you are to do it. (CRICHTON returns with sticks to mend the fire.) LORD LOAM (loftily, from the door of the hut). Have you carried out my instructions, Crichton? CRICHTON (deferentially). Yes, my lord. (ERNEST appears, mopping his hair, which has become very wet since we last saw him. He is not bearing malice, he is too busy drying, but AGATHA is specially his champion.) AGATHA. It's infamous, infamous. LORD LOAM: (strongly). My orders, Agatha. LADY MARY. Now, father, please. LORD LOAM (striking an attitude). Before I give you any further orders, Crichton-- CRICHTON. Yes, my lord. LORD LOAM. (delighted) Pooh! It's all right. LADY MARY. No. Please go on. LORD LOAM. Well, well. This question of the leadership; what do you think now, Crichton? CRICHTON. My lord, I feel it is a matter with which I have nothing to do. LORD LOAM. Excellent. Ha, Mary? That settles it, I think. LADY MARY. It seems to, but--I'm not sure. CRICHTON. It will settle itself naturally, my lord, without any interference from us. (The reference to nature gives general dissatisfaction.) LADY MARY. Father. LORD LOAM (a little severely). It settled itself long ago, Crichton, when I was born a peer, and you, for instance, were born a servant. CRICHTON (acquiescing). Yes, my lord, that was how it all came about quite naturally in England. We had nothing to do with it there, and we shall have as little to do with it here. TREHERNE (relieved). That's all right. LADY MARY (determined to clinch the matter). One moment. In short, Crichton, his lordship will continue to be our natural head. CRICHTON. I dare say, my lady, I dare say. CATHERINE. But you must know. CRICHTON. Asking your pardon, my lady, one can't be sure--on an island. (They look at each other uneasily.) LORD LOAM (warningly). Crichton, I don't like this. CRICHTON (harassed). The more I think of it, your lordship, the more uneasy I become myself. When I heard, my lord, that you had left that hairpin behind--(He is pained.) LORD LOAM (feebly). One hairpin among so many would only have caused dissension. CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lordship is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them. LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All? CRICHTON. On an island, my lady. LADY MARY. Father. CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth-- LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours. LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'. CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord! LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice. (If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.) CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lordship, the disgrace-- LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go. LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character. ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island? (This brings them to earth with a bump. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.) LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island. (The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.) CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you. LADY MARY. Go. CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't. LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him. (LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.) TREHERNE. It seems a pity. CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us? TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring. LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man? LORD LOAM (wrapping himself in his dignity). Come, my dears. CRICHTON. My lord! LORD LOAM. Treherne--Ernest--get our things. ERNEST. We don't have any, uncle. They all belong to Crichton. TREHERNE. Everything we have he brought from the wreck--he went back to it before it sank. He risked his life. CRICHTON. My lord, anything you would care to take is yours. LADY MARY (quickly). Nothing. ERNEST. Rot! If I could have your socks, Crichton-- LADY MARY. Come, father; we are ready. (Followed by the others, she and LORD LOAM pick their way up the rocks. In their indignation they scarcely notice that daylight is coming to a sudden end.) CRICHTON. My lord, I implore you--I am not desirous of being head. Do you have a try at it, my lord. LORD LOAM (outraged). A try at it! CRICHTON (eagerly). It may be that you will prove to be the best man. LORD LOAM. May be! My children, come. (They disappear proudly in single file.) TREHERNE. Crichton, I'm sorry; but of course I must go with them. CRICHTON. Certainly, sir. (He calls to TWEENY, and she comes from behind the hut, where she has been watching breathlessly.) Will you be so kind, sir, as to take her to the others? TREHERNE. Assuredly. TWEENY. But what do it all mean? CRICHTON. Does, Tweeny, does. (He passes her up the rocks to TREHERNE.) We shall meet again soon, Tweeny. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. I dare say they are not far away. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). They went westward, sir, and the wind is blowing in that direction. That may mean, sir, that nature is already taking the matter into her own hands. They are all hungry, sir, and the pot has come a-boil. (He takes off the lid.) The smell will be borne westward. That pot is full of nature, Mr. Treherne. Good night, sir. TREHERNE. Good night. (He mounts the rocks with TWEENY, and they are heard for a little time after their figures are swallowed up in the fast growing darkness. CRICHTON stands motionless, the lid in his hand, though he has forgotten it, and his reason for taking it off the pot. He is deeply stirred, but presently is ashamed of his dejection, for it is as if he doubted his principles. Bravely true to his faith that nature will decide now as ever before, he proceeds manfully with his preparations for the night. He lights a ship's lantern, one of several treasures he has brought ashore, and is filling his pipe with crumbs of tobacco from various pockets, when the stealthy movements of some animal in the grass startles him. With the lantern in one hand and his cutlass in the other, he searches the ground around the hut. He returns, lights his pipe, and sits down by the fire, which casts weird moving shadows. There is a red gleam on his face; in the darkness he is a strong and perhaps rather sinister figure. In the great stillness that has fallen over the land, the wash of the surf seems to have increased in volume. The sound is indescribably mournful. Except where the fire is, desolation has fallen on the island like a pall. Once or twice, as nature dictates, CRICHTON leans forward to stir the pot, and the smell is borne westward. He then resumes his silent vigil. Shadows other than those cast by the fire begin to descend the rocks. They are the adventurers returning. One by one they steal nearer to the pot until they are squatted round it, with their hands out to the blaze. LADY MARY only is absent. Presently she comes within sight of the others, then stands against a tree with her teeth clenched. One wonders, perhaps, what nature is to make of her.) End of Act II. ACT III. THE HAPPY HOME The scene is the hall of their island home two years later. This sturdy log-house is no mere extension of the hut we have seen in process of erection, but has been built a mile or less to the west of it, on higher ground and near a stream. When the master chose this site, the others thought that all he expected from the stream was a sufficiency of drinking water. They know better now every time they go down to the mill or turn on the electric light. This hall is the living-room of the house, and walls and roof are of stout logs. Across the joists supporting the roof are laid many home-made implements, such as spades, saws, fishing-rods, and from hooks in the joists are suspended cured foods, of which hams are specially in evidence. Deep recesses half way up the walls contain various provender in barrels and sacks. There are some skins, trophies of the chase, on the floor, which is otherwise bare. The chairs and tables are in some cases hewn out of the solid wood, and in others the result of rough but efficient carpentering. Various pieces of wreckage from the yacht have been turned to novel uses: thus the steering-wheel now hangs from the centre of the roof, with electric lights attached to it encased in bladders. A lifebuoy has become the back of a chair. Two barrels have been halved and turn coyly from each other as a settee. The farther end of the room is more strictly the kitchen, and is a great recess, which can be shut off from the hall by folding doors. There is a large open fire in it. The chimney is half of one of the boats of the yacht. On the walls of the kitchen proper are many plate-racks, containing shells; there are rows of these of one size and shape, which mark them off as dinner plates or bowls; others are as obviously tureens. They are arranged primly as in a well-conducted kitchen; indeed, neatness and cleanliness are the note struck everywhere, yet the effect of the whole is romantic and barbaric. The outer door into this hall is a little peculiar on an island. It is covered with skins and is in four leaves, like the swing doors of fashionable restaurants, which allow you to enter without allowing the hot air to escape. During the winter season our castaways have found the contrivance useful, but Crichton's brain was perhaps a little lordly when he conceived it. Another door leads by a passage to the sleeping-rooms of the house, which are all on the ground-floor, and to Crichton's work-room, where he is at this moment, and whither we should like to follow him, but in a play we may not, as it is out of sight. There is a large window space without a window, which, however, can be shuttered, and through this we have a view of cattle-sheds, fowl-pens, and a field of grain. It is a fine summer evening. Tweeny is sitting there, very busy plucking the feathers off a bird and dropping them on a sheet placed for that purpose on the floor. She is trilling to herself in the lightness of her heart. We may remember that Tweeny, alone among the women, had dressed wisely for an island when they fled the yacht, and her going-away gown still adheres to her, though in fragments. A score of pieces have been added here and there as necessity compelled, and these have been patched and repatched in incongruous colours; but, when all is said and done, it can still be maintained that Tweeny wears a skirt. She is deservedly proud of her skirt, and sometimes lends it on important occasions when approached in the proper spirit. Some one outside has been whistling to Tweeny; the guarded whistle which, on a less savage island, is sometimes assumed to be an indication to cook that the constable is willing, if the coast be clear. Tweeny, however, is engrossed, or perhaps she is not in the mood for a follower, so he climbs in at the window undaunted, to take her willy nilly. He is a jolly-looking labouring man, who answers to the name of Daddy, and--But though that may be his island name, we recognise him at once. He is Lord Loam, settled down to the new conditions, and enjoying life heartily as handy-man about the happy home. He is comfortably attired in skins. He is still stout, but all the flabbiness has dropped from him; gone too is his pomposity; his eye is clear, brown his skin; he could leap a gate. In his hands he carries an island-made concertina, and such is the exuberance of his spirits that, as he lights on the floor, he bursts into music and song, something about his being a chickety chickety chick chick, and will Tweeny please to tell him whose chickety chick is she. Retribution follows sharp. We hear a whir, as if from insufficiently oiled machinery, and over the passage door appears a placard showing the one word 'Silence.' His lordship stops, and steals to Tweeny on his tiptoes. LORD LOAM. I thought the Gov. was out. TWEENY. Well, you see he ain't. And if he were to catch you here idling-- (LORD LOAM pales. He lays aside his musical instrument and hurriedly dons an apron. TWEENY gives him the bird to pluck, and busies herself laying the table for dinner.) LORD LOAM (softly). What is he doing now? TWEENY. I think he's working out that plan for laying on hot and cold. LORD LOAM (proud of his master). And he'll manage it too. The man who could build a blacksmith's forge without tools-- TWEENY (not less proud). He made the tools. LORD LOAM. Out of half a dozen rusty nails. The saw-mill, Tweeny; the speaking-tube; the electric lighting; and look at the use he has made of the bits of the yacht that were washed ashore. And all in two years. He's a master I'm proud to pluck for. (He chirps happily at his work, and she regards him curiously.) TWEENY. Daddy, you're of little use, but you're a bright, cheerful creature to have about the house. (He beams at this commendation.) Do you ever think of old times now? We was a bit different. LORD LOAM (pausing). Circumstances alter cases. (He resumes his plucking contentedly.) TWEENY. But, Daddy, if the chance was to come of getting back? LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it. TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we've never seen another. LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship's notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore. TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It's the most wonderful thing he has done. LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then--England--home! TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night! LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber-- TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road--(The visions fade; they return to the practical.) LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM's appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.) ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg? LORD LOAM (with hauteur). That is my affair, sir. (With a Parthian shot as he withdraws stiffly from the room.) The Gov. has never put my head in a bucket. ERNEST (coming to rest on one of his buckets, and speaking with excusable pride. To TWEENY). Nor mine for nearly three months. It was only last week, Tweeny, that he said to me, 'Ernest, the water cure has worked marvels in you, and I question whether I shall require to dip you any more.' (Complacently.) Of course that sort of thing encourages a fellow. TWEENY (who has now arranged the dinner table to her satisfaction). I will say, Erny, I never seen a young chap more improved. ERNEST (gratified). Thank you, Tweeny, that's very precious to me. (She retires to the fire to work the great bellows with her foot, and ERNEST turns to TREHERNE, who has come in looking more like a cow-boy than a clergyman. He has a small box in his hand which he tries to conceal.) What have you got there, John? TREHERNE. Don't tell anybody. It is a little present for the Gov.; a set of razors. One for each day in the week. ERNEST (opening the box and examining its contents.) Shells! He'll like that. He likes sets of things. TREHERNE (in a guarded voice). Have you noticed that? ERNEST. Rather. TREHERNE. He's becoming a bit magnificent in his ideas. ERNEST (huskily). John, it sometimes gives me the creeps. TREHERNE (making sure that TWEENY is out of hearing). What do you think of that brilliant robe he got the girls to make for him. ERNEST (uncomfortably). I think he looks too regal in it. TREHERNE. Regal! I sometimes fancy that that's why he's so fond of wearing it. (Practically.) Well, I must take these down to the grindstone and put an edge on them. ERNEST (button-holing him). I say, John, I want a word with you. TREHERNE. Well? ERNEST (become suddenly diffident). Dash it all, you know, you're a clergyman. TREHERNE. One of the best things the Gov. has done is to insist that none of you forget it. ERNEST (taking his courage in his hands). Then--would you, John? TREHERNE. What? ERNEST (wistfully). Officiate at a marriage ceremony, John? TREHERNE (slowly). Now, that's really odd. ERNEST. Odd? Seems to me it's natural. And whatever is natural, John, is right. TREHERNE. I mean that same question has been put to me today already. ERNEST (eagerly). By one of the women? TREHERNE. Oh no; they all put it to me long ago. This was by the Gov. himself. ERNEST. By Jove! (Admiringly.) I say, John, what an observant beggar he is. TREHERNE. Ah! You fancy he was thinking of you? ERNEST. I do not hesitate to affirm, John, that he has seen the love-light in my eyes. You answered-- TREHERNE. I said Yes, I thought it would be my duty to officiate if called upon. ERNEST. You're a brick. TREHERNE (still pondering). But I wonder whether he was thinking of you? ERNEST. Make your mind easy about that. TREHERNE. Well, my best wishes. Agatha is a very fine girl. ERNEST. Agatha? What made you think it was Agatha? TREHERNE. Man alive, you told me all about it soon after we were wrecked. ERNEST. Pooh! Agatha's all very well in her way, John, but I'm flying at bigger game. TREHERNE. Ernest, which is it? ERNEST. Tweeny, of course. TREHERNE. Tweeny? (Reprovingly.) Ernest, I hope her cooking has nothing to do with this. ERNEST (with dignity). Her cooking has very little to do with it. TREHERNE. But does she return your affection. ERNEST (simply). Yes, John, I believe I may say so. I am unworthy of her, but I think I have touched her heart. TREHERNE (with a sigh). Some people seem to have all the luck. As you know, Catherine won't look at me. ERNEST. I'm sorry, John. TREHERNE. It's my deserts; I'm a second eleven sort of chap. Well, my heartiest good wishes, Ernest. ERNEST. Thank you, John. How's the little black pig to-day? TREHERNE (departing). He has begun to eat again. (After a moment's reflection ERNEST calls to TWEENY.) ERNEST. Are you very busy, Tweeny? TWEENY (coming to him good-naturedly). There's always work to do; but if you want me, Ernest-- ERNEST. There's something I should like to say to you if you could spare me a moment. TWEENY. Willingly. What is it? ERNEST. What an ass I used to be, Tweeny. TWEENY (tolerantly). Oh, let bygones be bygones. ERNEST (sincerely, and at his very best). I'm no great shakes even now. But listen to this, Tweeny; I have known many women, but until I knew you I never knew any woman. TWEENY (to whose uneducated ears this sounds dangerously like an epigram). Take care--the bucket. ERNEST (hurriedly). I didn't mean it in that way. (He goes chivalrously on his knees.) Ah, Tweeny, I don't undervalue the bucket, but what I want to say now is that the sweet refinement of a dear girl has done more for me than any bucket could do. TWEENY (with large eyes). Are you offering to walk out with me, Erny? ERNEST (passionately). More than that. I want to build a little house for you--in the sunny glade down by Porcupine Creek. I want to make chairs for you and tables; and knives and forks, and a sideboard for you. TWEENY (who is fond of language). I like to hear you. (Eyeing him.) Would there be any one in the house except myself, Ernest? ERNEST (humbly). Not often; but just occasionally there would be your adoring husband. TWEENY (decisively). It won't do, Ernest. ERNEST (pleading). It isn't as if I should be much there. TWEENY. I know, I know; but I don't love you, Ernest. I'm that sorry. ERNEST (putting his case cleverly). Twice a week I should be away altogether--at the dam. On the other days you would never see me from breakfast time to supper. (With the self-abnegation of the true lover.) If you like I'll even go fishing on Sundays. TWEENY. It's no use, Erny. ERNEST (rising manfully). Thank you, Tweeny; it can't be helped. (Then he remembers.) Tweeny, we shall be disappointing the Gov. TWEENY (with a sinking). What's that? ERNEST. He wanted us to marry. TWEENY (blankly). You and me? the Gov.! (Her head droops woefully. From without is heard the whistling of a happier spirit, and TWEENY draws herself up fiercely.) That's her; that's the thing what has stole his heart from me. (A stalwart youth appears at the window, so handsome and tingling with vitality that, glad to depose CRICHTON, we cry thankfully, 'The Hero at last.' But it is not the hero; it is the heroine. This splendid boy, clad in skins, is what nature has done for LADY MARY. She carries bow and arrows and a blow-pipe, and over her shoulder is a fat buck, which she drops with a cry of triumph. Forgetting to enter demurely, she leaps through the window.) (Sourly.) Drat you, Polly, why don't you wipe your feet? LADY MARY (good-naturedly). Come, Tweeny, be nice to me. It's a splendid buck. (But TWEENY shakes her off, and retires to the kitchen fire.) ERNEST. Where did you get it? LADY MARY (gaily). I sighted a herd near Penguin's Creek, but had to creep round Silver Lake to get to windward of them. However, they spotted me and then the fun began. There was nothing for it but to try and run them down, so I singled out a fat buck and away we went down the shore of the lake, up the valley of rolling stones; he doubled into Brawling River and took to the water, but I swam after him; the river is only half a mile broad there, but it runs strong. He went spinning down the rapids, down I went in pursuit; he clambered ashore, I clambered ashore; away we tore helter-skelter up the hill and down again. I lost him in the marshes, got on his track again near Bread Fruit Wood, and brought him down with an arrow in Firefly Grove. TWEENY (staring at her). Aren't you tired? LADY MARY. Tired! It was gorgeous. (She runs up a ladder and deposits her weapons on the joists. She is whistling again.) TWEENY (snapping). I can't abide a woman whistling. LADY MARY (indifferently). I like it. TWEENY (stamping her foot). Drop it, Polly, I tell you. LADY MARY (stung). I won't. I'm as good as you are. (They are facing each other defiantly.) ERNEST (shocked). Is this necessary? Think how it would pain him. (LADY MARY's eyes take a new expression. We see them soft for the first time.) LADY MARY (contritely). Tweeny, I beg your pardon. If my whistling annoys you, I shall try to cure myself of it. (Instead of calming TWEENY, this floods her face in tears.) Why, how can that hurt you, Tweeny dear? TWEENY. Because I can't make you lose your temper. LADY MARY (divinely). Indeed, I often do. Would that I were nicer to everybody. TWEENY. There you are again. (Wistfully.) What makes you want to be so nice, Polly? LADY MARY (with fervour). Only thankfulness, Tweeny. (She exults.) It is such fun to be alive. (So also seem to think CATHERINE and AGATHA, who bounce in with fishing-rods and creel. They, too, are in manly attire.) CATHERINE. We've got some ripping fish for the Gov.'s dinner. Are we in time? We ran all the way. TWEENY (tartly). You'll please to cook them yourself, Kitty, and look sharp about it. (She retires to her hearth, where AGATHA follows her.) AGATHA (yearning). Has the Gov. decided who is to wait upon him to-day? CATHERINE (who is cleaning her fish). It's my turn. AGATHA (hotly). I don't see that. TWEENY (with bitterness). It's to be neither of you, Aggy; he wants Polly again. (LADY MARY is unable to resist a joyous whistle.) AGATHA (jealously). Polly, you toad. (But they cannot make LADY MARY angry.) TWEENY (storming). How dare you look so happy? LADY MARY (willing to embrace her). I wish, Tweeny, there was anything I could do to make you happy also. TWEENY. Me! Oh, I'm happy. (She remembers ERNEST, whom it is easy to forget on an island.) I've just had a proposal, I tell you. (LADY MARY is shaken at last, and her sisters with her.) AGATHA. A proposal? CATHERINE (going white). Not--not--(She dare not say his name.) ERNEST (with singular modesty). You needn't be alarmed; it's only me. LADY MARY (relieved). Oh, you! AGATHA (happy again). Ernest, you dear, I got such a shock. CATHERINE. It was only Ernest. (Showing him her fish in thankfulness.) They are beautifully fresh; come and help me to cook them. ERNEST (with simple dignity). Do you mind if I don't cook fish to-night? (She does not mind in the least. They have all forgotten him. A lark is singing in three hearts.) I think you might all be a little sorry for a chap. (But they are not even sorry, and he addresses AGATHA in these winged words:) I'm particularly disappointed in you, Aggy; seeing that I was half engaged to you, I think you might have had the good feeling to be a little more hurt. AGATHA. Oh, bother. ERNEST (summing up the situation in so far as it affects himself). I shall now go and lie down for a bit. (He retires coldly but unregretted. LADY MARY approaches TWEENY with her most insinuating smile.) LADY MARY. Tweeny, as the Gov. has chosen me to wait on him, please may I have the loan of it again? (The reference made with such charming delicacy is evidently to TWEENY's skirt.) TWEENY (doggedly). No, you mayn't. AGATHA (supporting TWEENY). Don't you give it to her. LADY MARY (still trying sweet persuasion). You know quite well that he prefers to be waited on in a skirt. TWEENY. I don't care. Get one for yourself. LADY MARY. It is the only one on the island. TWEENY. And it's mine. LADY MARY (an aristocrat after all). Tweeny, give me that skirt directly. CATHERINE. Don't. TWEENY. I won't. LADY MARY (clearing for action). I shall make you. TWEENY. I should like to see you try. (An unseemly fracas appears to be inevitable, but something happens. The whir is again heard, and the notice is displayed 'Dogs delight to bark and bite.' Its effect is instantaneous and cheering. The ladies look at each other guiltily and immediately proceed on tiptoe to their duties. These are all concerned with the master's dinner. CATHERINE attends to his fish. AGATHA fills a quaint toast-rack and brings the menu, which is written on a shell. LADY MARY twists a wreath of green leaves around her head, and places a flower beside the master's plate. TWEENY signs that all is ready, and she and the younger sisters retire into the kitchen, drawing the screen that separates it from the rest of the room. LADY MARY beats a tom-tom, which is the dinner bell. She then gently works a punkah, which we have not hitherto observed, and stands at attention. No doubt she is in hopes that the Gov. will enter into conversation with her, but she is too good a parlour-maid to let her hopes appear in her face. We may watch her manner with complete approval. There is not one of us who would not give her £26 a year. The master comes in quietly, a book in his hand, still the only book on the island, for he has not thought it worth while to build a printing-press. His dress is not noticeably different from that of the others, the skins are similar, but perhaps these are a trifle more carefully cut or he carries them better. One sees somehow that he has changed for his evening meal. There is an odd suggestion of a dinner jacket about his doeskin coat. It is, perhaps, too grave a face for a man of thirty-two, as if he were over much immersed in affairs, yet there is a sunny smile left to lighten it at times and bring back its youth; perhaps too intellectual a face to pass as strictly handsome, not sufficiently suggestive of oats. His tall figure is very straight, slight rather than thick-set, but nobly muscular. His big hands, firm and hard with labour though they be, are finely shaped--note the fingers so much more tapered, the nails better tended than those of his domestics; they are one of many indications that he is of a superior breed. Such signs, as has often been pointed out, are infallible. A romantic figure, too. One can easily see why the women-folks of this strong man's house both adore and fear him. He does not seem to notice who is waiting on him to-night, but inclines his head slightly to whoever it is, as she takes her place at the back of his chair. LADY MARY respectfully places the menu-shell before him, and he glances at it.) CRICHTON. Clear, please. (LADY MARY knocks on the screen, and a serving hutch in it opens, through which TWEENY offers two soup plates. LADY MARY selects the clear, and the aperture is closed. She works the punkah while the master partakes of the soup.) CRICHTON (who always gives praise where it is due). An excellent soup, Polly, but still a trifle too rich. LADY MARY. Thank you. (The next course is the fish, and while it is being passed through the hutch we have a glimpse of three jealous women. LADY MARY'S movements are so deft and noiseless that any observant spectator can see that she was born to wait at table.) CRICHTON (unbending as he eats). Polly, you are a very smart girl. LADY MARY (bridling, but naturally gratified). La! CRICHTON (smiling). And I'm not the first you've heard it from, I'll swear. LADY MARY (wriggling). Oh God! CRICHTON. Got any followers on the island, Polly? LADY MARY (tossing her head). Certainly not. CRICHTON. I thought that perhaps John or Ernest-- LADY MARY (tilting her nose). I don't say that it's for want of asking. CRICHTON (emphatically). I'm sure it isn't. (Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far.) You may clear. (Flushed with pleasure, she puts before him a bird and vegetables, sees that his beaker is fitted with wine, and returns to the punkah. She would love to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide. For a time he seems to have forgotten her.) CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day? LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove. CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black Gorge? LADY MARY. I went across on the rope. CRICHTON. Hand over hand? LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy. CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little agitated.) But never do that again. LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov. CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it. LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall. CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward, but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless, with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you, you know. LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't. CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there, you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order. LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from harm? LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down sadly)--when I know you prefer it. CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't, Polly; that's nothing. LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov. CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON. Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I do? CRICHTON. So--like one washing them. I have noticed that the others tend to do it also. It seems odd. LADY MARY (archly). Oh Gov., have you forgotten? CRICHTON. What? LADY MARY. That once upon a time a certain other person did that. CRICHTON (groping). You mean myself? (She nods, and he shudders.) Horrible! LADY MARY (afraid she has hurt him). You haven't for a very long time. Perhaps it is natural to servants. CRICHTON. That must be it. (He rises.) Polly! (She looks up expectantly, but he only sighs and turns away.) LADY MARY (gently). You sighed, Gov. CRICHTON. Did I? I was thinking. (He paces the room and then turns to her agitatedly, yet with control over his agitation. There is some mournfulness in his voice.) I have always tried to do the right thing on this island. Above all, Polly, I want to do the right thing by you. LADY MARY (with shining eyes). How we all trust you. That is your reward, Gov. CRICHTON (who is having a fight with himself). And now I want a greater reward. Is it fair to you? Am I playing the game? Bill Crichton would like always to play the game. If we were in England--(He pauses so long that she breaks in softly.) LADY MARY. We know now that we shall never see England again. CRICHTON. I am thinking of two people whom neither of us has seen for a long time--Lady Mary Lasenby, and one Crichton, a butler. (He says the last word bravely, a word he once loved, though it is the most horrible of all words to him now.) LADY MARY. That cold, haughty, insolent girl. Gov., look around you and forget them both. CRICHTON. I had nigh forgotten them. He has had a chance, Polly--that butler--in these two years of becoming a man, and he has tried to take it. There have been many failures, but there has been some success, and with it I have let the past drop off me, and turned my back on it. That butler seems a far-away figure to me now, and not myself. I hail him, but we scarce know each other. If I am to bring him back it can only be done by force, for in my soul he is now abhorrent to me. But if I thought it best for you I'd haul him back; I swear as an honest man, I would bring him back with all his obsequious ways and deferential airs, and let you see the man you call your Gov. melt for ever into him who was your servant. LADY MARY (shivering). You hurt me. You say these things, but you say them like a king. To me it is the past that was not real. CRICHTON (too grandly). A king! I sometimes feel--(For a moment the yellow light gleams in his green eyes. We remember suddenly what TREHERNE and ERNEST said about his regal look. He checks himself.) I say it harshly, it is so hard to say, and all the time there is another voice within me crying--(He stops.) LADY MARY (trembling but not afraid). If it is the voice of nature-- CRICHTON (strongly). I know it to be the voice of nature. LADY MARY (in a whisper). Then, if you want to say it very much, Gov., please say it to Polly Lasenby. CRICHTON (again in the grip of an idea). A king! Polly, some people hold that the soul but leaves one human tenement for another, and so lives on through all the ages. I have occasionally thought of late that, in some past existence, I may have been a king. It has all come to me so naturally, not as if I had had to work it out, but-as-if-I-remembered. 'Or ever the knightly years were gone, With the old world to the grave, I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' It may have been; you hear me, it may have been. LADY MARY (who is as one fascinated). It may have been. CRICHTON. I am lord over all. They are but hewers of wood and drawers of water for me. These shores are mine. Why should I hesitate; I have no longer any doubt. I do believe I am doing the right thing. Dear Polly, I have grown to love you; are you afraid to mate with me? (She rocks her arms; no words will come from her.) 'I was a king in Babylon, And you were a Christian slave.' LADY MARY (bewitched). You are the most wonderful man I have ever known, and I am not afraid. (He takes her to him reverently. Presently he is seated, and she is at his feet looking up adoringly in his face. As the tension relaxes she speaks with a smile.) I want you to tell me--every woman likes to know--when was the first time you thought me nicer than the others? CRICHTON (who, like all big men, is simple). I think a year ago. We were chasing goats on the Big Slopes, and you out-distanced us all; you were the first of our party to run a goat down; I was proud of you that day. LADY MARY (blushing with pleasure). Oh Gov., I only did it to please you. Everything I have done has been out of the desire to please you. (Suddenly anxious.) If I thought that in taking a wife from among us you were imperilling your dignity-- CRICHTON (perhaps a little masterful). Have no fear of that, dear. I have thought it all out. The wife, Polly, always takes the same position as the husband. LADY MARY. But I am so unworthy. It was sufficient to me that I should be allowed to wait on you at that table. CRICHTON. You shall wait on me no longer. At whatever table I sit, Polly, you shall soon sit there also. (Boyishly.) Come, let us try what it will be like. LADY MARY. As your servant at your feet. CRICHTON. No, as my consort by my side. (They are sitting thus when the hatch is again opened and coffee offered. But LADY MARY is no longer there to receive it. Her sisters peep through in consternation. In vain they rattle the cup and saucer. AGATHA brings the coffee to CRICHTON.) CRICHTON (forgetting for the moment that it is not a month hence). Help your mistress first, girl. (Three women are bereft of speech, but he does not notice it. He addresses CATHERINE vaguely.) Are you a good girl, Kitty? CATHERINE (when she finds her tongue). I try to be, Gov. CRICHTON (still more vaguely). That's right. (He takes command of himself again, and signs to them to sit down. ERNEST comes in cheerily, but finding CRICHTON here is suddenly weak. He subsides on a chair, wondering what has happened.) CRICHTON (surveying him). Ernest. (ERNEST rises.) You are becoming a little slovenly in your dress, Ernest; I don't like it. ERNEST (respectfully). Thank you. (ERNEST sits again. DADDY and TREHERNE arrive.) CRICHTON. Daddy, I want you. LORD LOAM (with a sinking). Is it because I forgot to clean out the dam? CRICHTON (encouragingly). No, no. (He pours some wine into a goblet.) A glass of wine with you, Daddy. LORD LOAM (hastily). Your health, Gov. (He is about to drink, but the master checks him.) CRICHTON. And hers. Daddy, this lady has done me the honour to promise to be my wife. LORD LOAM (astounded). Polly! CRICHTON (a little perturbed). I ought first to have asked your consent. I deeply regret--but nature; may I hope I have your approval? LORD LOAM. May you, Gov.? (Delighted.) Rather! Polly! (He puts his proud arms round her.) TREHERNE. We all congratulate you, Gov., most heartily. ERNEST. Long life to you both, sir. (There is much shaking of hands, all of which is sincere.) TREHERNE. When will it be, Gov.? CRICHTON (after turning to LADY MARY, who whispers to him). As soon as the bridal skirt can be prepared. (His manner has been most indulgent, and without the slightest suggestion of patronage. But he knows it is best for all that he should keep his place, and that his presence hampers them.) My friends, I thank you for your good wishes, I thank you all. And now, perhaps you would like me to leave you to yourselves. Be joyous. Let there be song and dance to-night. Polly, I shall take my coffee in the parlour--you understand. (He retires with pleasant dignity. Immediately there is a rush of two girls at LADY MARY.) LADY MARY. Oh, oh! Father, they are pinching me. LORD LOAM (taking her under his protection). Agatha, Catherine, never presume to pinch your sister again. On the other hand, she may pinch you henceforth as much as ever she chooses. (In the meantime TWEENY is weeping softly, and the two are not above using her as a weapon.) CATHERINE. Poor Tweeny, it's a shame. AGATHA. After he had almost promised you. TWEENY (loyally turning on them). No, he never did. He was always honourable as could be. 'Twas me as was too vulgar. Don't you dare say a word agin that man. ERNEST (to LORD LOAM). You'll get a lot of tit-bits out of this, Daddy. LORD LOAM. That's what I was thinking. ERNEST (plunged in thought). I dare say I shall have to clean out the dam now. LORD LOAM (heartlessly). I dare say. (His gay old heart makes him again proclaim that he is a chickety chick. He seizes the concertina.) TREHERNE (eagerly). That's the proper spirit. (He puts his arm round CATHERINE, and in another moment they are all dancing to Daddy's music. Never were people happier on an island. A moment's pause is presently created by the return of CRICHTON, wearing the wonderful robe of which we have already had dark mention. Never has he looked more regal, never perhaps felt so regal. We need not grudge him the one foible of his rule, for it is all coming to an end.) CRICHTON (graciously, seeing them hesitate). No, no; I am delighted to see you all so happy. Go on. TREHERNE. We don't like to before you, Gov. CRICHTON (his last order). It is my wish. (The merrymaking is resumed, and soon CRICHTON himself joins in the dance. It is when the fun is at its fastest and most furious that all stop abruptly as if turned to stone. They have heard the boom of a gun. Presently they are alive again. ERNEST leaps to the window.) TREHERNE (huskily). It was a ship's gun. (They turn to CRICHTON for confirmation; even in that hour they turn to CRICHTON.) Gov.? CRICHTON. Yes. (In another moment LADY MARY and LORD LOAM are alone.) LADY MARY (seeing that her father is unconcerned). Father, you heard. LORD LOAM (placidly). Yes, my child. LADY MARY (alarmed by his unnatural calmness). But it was a gun, father. LORD LOAM (looking an old man now, and shuddering a little). Yes--a gun--I have often heard it. It's only a dream, you know; why don't we go on dancing? (She takes his hands, which have gone cold.) LADY MARY. Father. Don't you see, they have all rushed down to the beach? Come. LORD LOAM. Rushed down to the beach; yes, always that--I often dream it. LADY MARY. Come, father, come. LORD LOAM. Only a dream, my poor girl. (CRICHTON returns. He is pale but firm.) CRICHTON. We can see lights within a mile of the shore--a great ship. LORD LOAM. A ship--always a ship. LADY MARY. Father, this is no dream. LORD LOAM (looking timidly at CRICHTON). It's a dream, isn't it? There's no ship? CRICHTON (soothing him with a touch). You are awake, Daddy, and there is a ship. LORD LOAM (clutching him). You are not deceiving me? CRICHTON. It is the truth. LORD LOAM (reeling). True?--a ship--at last! (He goes after the others pitifully.) CRICHTON (quietly). There is a small boat between it and the island; they must have sent it ashore for water. LADY MART. Coming in? CRICHTON. No. That gun must have been a signal to recall it. It is going back. They can't hear our cries. LADY MARY (pressing her temples). Going away. So near--so near. (Almost to herself.) I think I'm glad. CRICHTON (cheerily). Have no fear. I shall bring them back. (He goes towards the table on which is the electrical apparatus.) LADY MARY (standing on guard as it were between him and the table). What are you going to do? CRICHTON. To fire the beacons. LADY MARY. Stop! (She faces him.) Don't you see what it means? CRICHTON (firmly). It means that our life on the island has come to a natural end. LADY MARY (husky). Gov., let the ship go-- CRICHTON. The old man--you saw what it means to him. LADY MARY. But I am afraid. CRICHTON (adoringly). Dear Polly. LADY MARY. Gov., let the ship go. CRICHTON (she clings to him, but though it is his death sentence he loosens her hold). Bill Crichton has got to play the game. (He pulls the levers. Soon through the window one of the beacons is seen flaring red. There is a long pause. Shouting is heard. ERNEST is the first to arrive.) ERNEST. Polly, Gov., the boat has turned back. They are English sailors; they have landed! We are rescued, I tell you, rescued! LADY MARY (wanly). Is it anything to make so great a to-do about? ERNEST (staring). Eh? LADY MARY. Have we not been happy here? ERNEST. Happy? Lord, yes. LADY MARY (catching hold of his sleeve). Ernest, we must never forget all that the Gov. has done for us. ERNEST (stoutly). Forget it? The man who could forget it would be a selfish wretch and a--But I say, this makes a difference! LADY MARY (quickly). No, it doesn't. ERNEST (his mind tottering). A mighty difference! (The others come running in, some weeping with joy, others boisterous. We see blue-jackets gazing through the window at the curious scene. LORD LOAM comes accompanied by a naval officer, whom he is continually shaking by the hand.) LORD LOAM. And here, sir, is our little home. Let me thank you in the name of us all, again and again and again. OFFICER. Very proud, my lord. It is indeed an honour to have been able to assist so distinguished a gentleman as Lord Loam. LORD LOAM. A glorious, glorious day. I shall show you our other room. Come, my pets. Come, Crichton. (He has not meant to be cruel. He does not know he has said it. It is the old life that has come back to him. They all go. All leave CRICHTON except LADY MARY.) LADY MARY (stretching out her arms to him). Dear Gov., I will never give you up. (There is a salt smile on his face as he shakes his head to her. He lets the cloak slip to the ground. She will not take this for an answer; again her arms go out to him. Then comes the great renunciation. By an effort of will he ceases to be an erect figure; he has the humble bearing of a servant. His hands come together as if he were washing them.) CRICHTON (it is the speech of his life). My lady. (She goes away. There is none to salute him now, unless we do it.) End of Act III. ACT IV. THE OTHER ISLAND Some months have elapsed, and we have again the honour of waiting upon Lord Loam in his London home. It is the room of the first act, but with a new scheme of decoration, for on the walls are exhibited many interesting trophies from the island, such as skins, stuffed birds, and weapons of the chase, labelled 'Shot by Lord Loam,' 'Hon. Ernest Woolley's Blowpipe' etc. There are also two large glass cases containing other odds and ends, including, curiously enough, the bucket in which Ernest was first dipped, but there is no label calling attention to the incident. It is not yet time to dress for dinner, and his lordship is on a couch, hastily yet furtively cutting the pages of a new book. With him are his two younger daughters and his nephew, and they also are engaged in literary pursuits; that is to say, the ladies are eagerly but furtively reading the evening papers, of which Ernest is sitting complacently but furtively on an endless number, and doling them out as called for. Note the frequent use of the word 'furtive.' It implies that they do not wish to be discovered by their butler, say, at their otherwise delightful task. AGATHA (reading aloud, with emphasis on the wrong words'). 'In conclusion, we most heartily congratulate the Hon. Ernest Woolley. This book of his, regarding the adventures of himself and his brave companions on a desert isle, stirs the heart like a trumpet.' (Evidently the book referred to is the one in LORD LOAM'S hands.) ERNEST (handing her a pink paper). Here is another. CATHERINE (reading). 'From the first to the last of Mr. Woolley's engrossing pages it is evident that he was an ideal man to be wrecked with, and a true hero.' (Large-eyed.) Ernest! ERNEST (calmly). That's how it strikes them, you know. Here's another one. AGATHA (reading). 'There are many kindly references to the two servants who were wrecked with the family, and Mr. Woolley pays the butler a glowing tribute in a footnote.' (Some one coughs uncomfortably.) LORD LOAM (who has been searching the index for the letter L). Excellent, excellent. At the same time I must say, Ernest, that the whole book is about yourself. ERNEST (genially). As the author-- LORD LOAM. Certainly, certainly. Still, you know, as a peer of the realm--(with dignity)--I think, Ernest, you might have given me one of your adventures. ERNEST. I say it was you who taught us how to obtain a fire by rubbing two pieces of stick together. LORD LOAM (beaming). Do you, do you? I call that very handsome. What page? (Here the door opens, and the well-bred CRICHTON enters with the evening papers as subscribed for by the house. Those we have already seen have perhaps been introduced by ERNEST up his waistcoat. Every one except the intruder is immediately self-conscious, and when he withdraws there is a general sigh of relief. They pounce on the new papers. ERNEST evidently gets a shock from one, which he casts contemptuously on the floor.) AGATHA (more fortunate). Father, see page 81. 'It was a tiger-cat,' says Mr. Woolley, 'of the largest size. Death stared Lord Loam in the face, but he never flinched.' LORD LOAM (searching his book eagerly). Page 81. AGATHA. 'With presence of mind only equalled by his courage, he fixed an arrow in his bow.' LORD LOAM. Thank you, Ernest; thank you, my boy. AGATHA. 'Unfortunately he missed.' LORD LOAM. Eh? AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'-- LORD LOAM. My cries? AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.' (LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.) LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine? CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all. ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it. (CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.) LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away. ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.) CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe. LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano. AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to--to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once. CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie. LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what. (All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.) AGATHA. Is she mad? LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty. CATHERINE. Father, have you told him? LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night. (Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.) CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen. LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice. (LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.) AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit. (They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.) LADY MARY. How horrid of me! LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember-- LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember. LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins. LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time. LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket. LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner. LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays. LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.) LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary. LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me. He didn't say what about, but of course we know. (His lordship fidgets.) (With feeling.) It was good of you to tell him, father. Oh, it is horrible to me--(covering her face). It seemed so natural at the time. LORD LOAM (petulantly). Never again make use of that word in this house, Mary. LADY MARY (with an effort). Father, Brocklehurst has been so loyal to me for these two years that I should despise myself were I to keep my--my extraordinary lapse from him. Had Brocklehurst been a little less good, then you need not have told him my strange little secret. LORD LOAM (weakly). Polly--I mean Mary--it was all Crichton's fault, he-- LADY MARY (with decision). No, father, no; not a word against him though. I haven't the pluck to go on with it; I can't even understand how it ever was. Father, do you not still hear the surf? Do you see the curve of the beach? LORD LOAM. I have begun to forget--(in a low voice). But they were happy days; there was something magical about them. LADY MARY. It was glamour. Father, I have lived Arabian nights. I have sat out a dance with the evening star. But it was all in a past existence, in the days of Babylon, and I am myself again. But he has been chivalrous always. If the slothful, indolent creature I used to be has improved in any way, I owe it all to him. I am slipping back in many ways, but I am determined not to slip back altogether--in memory of him and his island. That is why I insisted on your telling Brocklehurst. He can break our engagement if he chooses. (Proudly.) Mary Lasenby is going to play the game. LORD LOAM. But my dear-- (LORD BROCKLEHURST is announced.) LADY MARY (meaningly). Father, dear, oughtn't you to be dressing? LORD LOAM (very unhappy). The fact is--before I go--I want to say-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. Loam, if you don't mind, I wish very specially to have a word with Mary before dinner. LORD LOAM. But-- LADY MARY. Yes, father. (She induces him to go, and thus courageously faces LORD BROCKLEHURST to hear her fate.) I am ready, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who is so agitated that she ought to see he is thinking not of her but of himself). It is a painful matter--I wish I could have spared you this, Mary. LADY MARY. Please go on. LORD BROCKLEHURST. In common fairness, of course, this should be remembered, that two years had elapsed. You and I had no reason to believe that we should ever meet again. (This is more considerate than she had expected.) LADY MARY (softening). I was so lost to the world, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with a groan). At the same time, the thing is utterly and absolutely inexcusable-- LADY MARY (recovering her hauteur). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. And so I have already said to mother. LADY MARY (disdaining him). You have told her? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Certainly, Mary, certainly; I tell mother everything. LADY MARY (curling her lip). And what did she say? LORD BROCKLEHURST. To tell the truth, mother rather pooh-poohed the whole affair. LADY MARY (incredulous). Lady Brocklehurst pooh-poohed the whole affair! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She said, 'Mary and I will have a good laugh over this.' LADY MARY (outraged). George, your mother is a hateful, depraved old woman. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mary! LADY MARY (turning away). Laugh indeed, when it will always be such a pain to me. LORD BROCKLEHURST (with strange humility). If only you would let me bear all the pain, Mary. LADY MARY (who is taken aback). George, I think you are the noblest man-- (She is touched, and gives him both her hands. Unfortunately he simpers.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was a pretty little thing. (She stares, but he marches to his doom.) Ah, not beautiful like you. I assure you it was the merest flirtation; there were a few letters, but we have got them back. It was all owing to the boat being so late at Calais. You see she had such large, helpless eyes. LADY MARY (fixing him). George, when you lunched with father to-day at the club-- LORD BROCKLEHURST. I didn't. He wired me that he couldn't come. LADY MARY (with a tremor). But he wrote you? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. LADY MARY (a bird singing in her breast). You haven't seen him since? LORD BROCKLEHURST. No. (She is saved. Is he to be let off also? Not at all. She bears down on him like a ship of war.) LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman? LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was--she is--the shame of it--a lady's-maid. LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what? LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady's-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father's fault. LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady's-maid? LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher. LADY MARY. My maid! LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY. Oh George, George! LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but-- LADY MARY (from her heart). I am so glad you told me. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see there was nothing wrong in it. LADY MARY (thinking perhaps of another incident). No, indeed. LORD BROCKLEHURST (inclined to simper again). And she behaved awfully well. She quite saw that it was because the boat was late. I suppose the glamour to a girl in service of a man in high position-- LADY MARY. Glamour!--yes, yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother says that a girl in such circumstances is to be excused if she loses her head. LADY MARY (impulsively). George, I am so sorry if I said anything against your mother. I am sure she is the dearest old thing. LORD BROCKLEHURST (in calm waters at last). Of course for women of our class she has a very different standard. LADY MARY (grown tiny). Of course. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You see, knowing how good a woman she is herself, she was naturally anxious that I should marry some one like her. That is what has made her watch your conduct so jealously, Mary. LADY MARY (hurriedly thinking things out). I know. I--I think, George, that before your mother comes I should like to say a word to father. LORD BROCKLEHURST (nervously). About this? LADY MARY. Oh no; I shan't tell him of this. About something else. LORD BROCKLEHURST. And you do forgive me, Mary? LADY MARY (smiling on him). Yes, yes. I--I am sure the boat was very late, George. LORD BROCKLEHURST (earnestly). It really was. LADY MARY. I am even relieved to know that you are not quite perfect, dear. (She rests her hands on his shoulders. She has a moment of contrition.) George, when we are married, we shall try to be not an entirely frivolous couple, won't we? We must endeavour to be of some little use, dear. LORD BROCKLEHURST (the ass). Noblesse oblige. LADY MARY (haunted by the phrases of a better man). Mary Lasenby is determined to play the game, George. (Perhaps she adds to herself, 'Except just this once.' A kiss closes this episode of the two lovers; and soon after the departure of LADY MARY the COUNTESS OF BROCKLEHURST is announced. She is a very formidable old lady.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. Alone, George? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother, I told her all; she has behaved magnificently. LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not shared his fears). Silly boy. (She casts a supercilious eye on the island trophies.) So these are the wonders they brought back with them. Gone away to dry her eyes, I suppose? LORD BROCKLEHURST (proud of his mate). She didn't cry, mother. LADY BROCKLEHURST. No? (She reflects.) You're quite right. I wouldn't have cried. Cold, icy. Yes, that was it. LORD BROCKLEHURST (who has not often contradicted her). I assure you, mother, that wasn't it at all. She forgave me at once. LADY BROCKLEHURST (opening her eyes sharply to the full). Oh! LORD BROCKLEHURST. She was awfully nice about the boat being late; she even said she was relieved to find that I wasn't quite perfect. LADY BROCKLEHURST (pouncing). She said that? LORD BROCKLEHURST. She really did. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I mean I wouldn't. Now if I had said that, what would have made me say it? (Suspiciously.) George, is Mary all we think her? LORD BROCKLEHURST (with unexpected spirit). If she wasn't, mother, you would know it. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Hold your tongue, boy. We don't really know what happened on that island. LORD BROCKLEHURST. You were reading the book all the morning. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How can I be sure that the book is true? LORD BROCKLEHURST. They all talk of it as true. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do I know that they are not lying? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why should they lie? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Why shouldn't they? (She reflects again.) If I had been wrecked on an island, I think it highly probable that I should have lied when I came back. Weren't some servants with them? LORD BROCKLEHURST. Crichton, the butler. (He is surprised to see her ring the bell.) Why, mother, you are not going to-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, I am. (Pointedly.) George, watch whether Crichton begins any of his answers to my questions with 'The fact is.' LORD BROCKLEHURST. Why? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Because that is usually the beginning of a lie. LORD BROCKLEHURST (as CRICHTON opens the door). Mother, you can't do these things in other people's houses. LADY BROCKLEHURST (coolly, to CRICHTON). It was I who rang. (Surveying him through her eyeglass.) So you were one of the castaways, Crichton? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Delightful book Mr. Woolley has written about your adventures. (CRICHTON bows.) Don't you think so? CRICHTON. I have not read it, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Odd that they should not have presented you with a copy. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Presumably Crichton is no reader. LADY BROCKLEHURST. By the way, Crichton, were there any books on the island? CRICHTON. I had one, my lady--Henley's poems. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Never heard of him. (CRICHTON again bows.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (who has not heard of him either). I think you were not the only servant wrecked? CRICHTON. There was a young woman, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I want to see her. (CRICHTON bows, but remains.) Fetch her up. (He goes.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (almost standing up to his mother). This is scandalous. LADY BROCKLEHURST (defining her position). I am a mother. (CATHERINE and AGATHA enter in dazzling confections, and quake in secret to find themselves practically alone with LADY BROCKLEHURST.) (Even as she greets them.) How d'you do, Catherine--Agatha? You didn't dress like this on the island, I expect! By the way, how did you dress? (They have thought themselves prepared, but--) AGATHA. Not--not so well, of course, but quite the same idea. (They are relieved by the arrival of TREHERNE, who is in clerical dress.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. How do you do, Mr. Treherne? There is not so much of you in the book as I had hoped. TREHERNE (modestly). There wasn't very much of me on the island, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. How d'ye mean? (He shrugs his honest shoulders.) LORD BROCKLEHURST. I hear you have got a living, Treherne. Congratulations. TREHERNE. Thanks. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Is it a good one? TREHERNE. So--so. They are rather weak in bowling, but it's a good bit of turf. (Confidence is restored by the entrance of ERNEST, who takes in the situation promptly, and, of course, knows he is a match for any old lady.) ERNEST (with ease). How do you do, Lady Brocklehurst. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Our brilliant author! ERNEST (impervious to satire). Oh, I don't know. LADY BROCKLEHURST. It is as engrossing, Mr. Woolley, as if it were a work of fiction. ERNEST (suddenly uncomfortable). Thanks, awfully. (Recovering.) The fact is--(He is puzzled by seeing the Brocklehurst family exchange meaning looks.) CATHERINE (to the rescue). Lady Brocklehurst, Mr. Treherne and I--we are engaged. AGATHA. And Ernest and I. LADY BROCKLEHURST (grimly). I see, my dears; thought it wise to keep the island in the family. (An awkward moment this for the entrance of LORD LOAM and LADY MARY, who, after a private talk upstairs, are feeling happy and secure.) LORD LOAM (with two hands for his distinguished guest). Aha! ha, ha! younger than any of them, Emily. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Flatterer. (To LADY MARY.) You seem in high spirits, Mary. LADY MARY (gaily). I am. LADY BROCKLEHURST (with a significant glance at LORD BROCKLEHURST). After-- LADY MARY. I--I mean. The fact is-- (Again that disconcerting glance between the Countess and her son.) LORD LOAM (humorously). She hears wedding bells, Emily, ha, ha! LADY BROCKLEHURST (coldly). Do you, Mary? Can't say I do; but I'm hard of hearing. LADY MARY (instantly her match). If you don't, Lady Brocklehurst, I'm sure I don't. LORD LOAM (nervously). Tut, tut. Seen our curios from the island, Emily; I should like you to examine them. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Thank you, Henry. I am glad you say that, for I have just taken the liberty of asking two of them to step upstairs. (There is an uncomfortable silence, which the entrance of CRICHTON with TWEENY does not seem to dissipate. CRICHTON is impenetrable, but TWEENY hangs back in fear.) LORD BROCKLEHURST (stoutly). Loam, I have no hand in this. LADY BROCKLEHURST (undisturbed). Pooh, what have I done? You always begged me to speak to the servants, Henry, and I merely wanted to discover whether the views you used to hold about equality were adopted on the island; it seemed a splendid opportunity, but Mr. Woolley has not a word on the subject. (All eyes turn to ERNEST.) ERNEST (with confidence). The fact is-- (The fatal words again.) LORD LOAM (not quite certain what he is to assure her of). I assure you, Emily-- LADY MARY (as cold as steel). Father, nothing whatever happened on the island of which I, for one, am ashamed, and I hope Crichton will be allowed to answer Lady Brocklehurst's questions. LADY BROCKLEHURST. To be sure. There's nothing to make a fuss about, and we're a family party. (To CRICHTON.) Now, truthfully, my man. CRICHTON (calmly). I promise that, my lady. (Some hearts sink, the hearts that could never understand a Crichton.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (sharply). Well, were you all equal on the island? CRICHTON. No, my lady. I think I may say there was as little equality there as elsewhere. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah the social distinctions were preserved? CRICHTON. As at home, my lady. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants? CRICHTON. They had to keep their place. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Wonderful. How was it managed? (With an inspiration.) You, girl, tell me that? (Can there be a more critical moment?) TWEENY (in agony). If you please, my lady, it was all the Gov.'s doing. (They give themselves up for lost. LORD LOAM tries to sink out of sight.) CRICHTON. In the regrettable slang of the servants' hall, my lady, the master is usually referred to as the Gov. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I see. (She turns to LORD LOAM.) You-- LORD LOAM (reappearing). Yes, I understand that is what they call me. LADY BROCKLEHURST (to CRICHTON). You didn't even take your meals with the family? CRICHTON. No, my lady, I dined apart. (Is all safe?) LADY BROCKLEHURST (alas). You, girl, also? Did you dine with Crichton? TWEENY (scared). No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (fastening on her). With whom? TWEENY. I took my bit of supper with--with Daddy and Polly and the rest. (Vae victis.) ERNEST (leaping into the breach). Dear old Daddy--he was our monkey. You remember our monkey, Agatha? AGATHA. Rather! What a funny old darling he was. CATHERINE (thus encouraged). And don't you think Polly was the sweetest little parrot, Mary? LADY BROCKLEHURST. Ah! I understand; animals you had domesticated? LORD LOAM (heavily). Quite so--quite so. LADY BROCKLEHURST. The servants' teas that used to take place here once a month-- CRICHTON. They did not seem natural on the island, my lady, and were discontinued by the Gov.'s orders. LORD BROCKLEHURST. A clear proof, Loam, that they were a mistake here. LORD LOAM (seeing the opportunity for a diversion). I admit it frankly. I abandon them. Emily, as the result of our experiences on the island, I think of going over to the Tories. LADY BROCKLEHURST. I am delighted to hear it. LORD LOAM (expanding). Thank you, Crichton, thank you; that is all. (He motions to them to go, but the time is not yet.) LADY BROCKLEHURST. One moment. (There is a universal but stifled groan.) Young people, Crichton, will be young people, even on an island; now, I suppose there was a certain amount of--shall we say sentimentalising, going on? CRICHTON. Yes, my lady, there was. LORD BROCKLEHURST (ashamed). Mother! LADY BROCKLEHURST (disregarding him). Which gentleman? (To TWEENY) You, girl, tell me. TWEENY (confused). If you please, my lady-- ERNEST (hurriedly). The fact is--(He is checked as before, and probably says 'D--n' to himself, but he has saved the situation.) TWEENY (gasping). It was him--Mr. Ernest, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST (counsel for the prosecution). With which lady? AGATHA. I have already told you, Lady Brocklehurst, that Ernest and I-- LADY BROCKLEHURST. Yes, now; but you were two years on the island. (Looking at LADY MARY). Was it this lady? TWEENY. No, your ladyship. LADY BROCKLEHURST. Then I don't care which of the others it was. (TWEENY gurgles.) Well, I suppose that will do. LORD BROCKLEHURST. Do! I hope you are ashamed of yourself, mother. (To CRICHTON, who is going). You are an excellent fellow, Crichton; and if, after we are married, you ever wish to change your place, come to us. LADY MARY (losing her head for the only time). Oh no, impossible-- LADY BROCKLEHURST (at once suspicious). Why impossible? (LADY MARY cannot answer, or perhaps she is too proud.) Do you see why it should be impossible, my man? (He can make or mar his unworthy MARY now. Have you any doubt of him?) CRICHTON. Yes, my lady. I had not told you, my lord, but as soon as your lordship is suited I wish to leave service. (They are all immensely relieved, except poor TWEENY.) TREHERNE (the only curious one). What will you do, Crichton? (CRICHTON shrugs his shoulders; 'God knows', it may mean.) CRICHTON. Shall I withdraw, my lord? (He withdraws without a tremor, TWEENY accompanying him. They can all breathe again; the thunderstorm is over.) LADY BROCKLEHURST (thankful to have made herself unpleasant). Horrid of me, wasn't it? But if one wasn't disagreeable now and again, it would be horribly tedious to be an old woman. He will soon be yours, Mary, and then--think of the opportunities you will have of being disagreeable to me. On that understanding, my dear, don't you think we might--? (Their cold lips meet.) LORD LOAM (vaguely). Quite so--quite so. (CRICHTON announces dinner, and they file out. LADY MARY stays behind a moment and impulsively holds out her hand.) LADY MARY. To wish you every dear happiness. CRICHTON (an enigma to the last.) The same to you, my lady. LADY MARY. Do you despise me, Crichton? (The man who could never tell a lie makes no answer.) You are the best man among us. CRICHTON. On an island, my lady, perhaps; but in England, no. LADY MARY. Then there's something wrong with England. CRICHTON. My lady, not even from you can I listen to a word against England. LADY MARY. Tell me one thing: you have not lost your courage? CRICHTON. No, my lady. (She goes. He turns out the lights.) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Admirable Crichton, by J. M. Barrie

Two years

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Q: The Lieutenant has how many children? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

Two

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Q: The Lieutenant has how many children? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

He has two children.

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Q: What drugs does the Lieutenant use? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

Cocaine, Crack, Alcohol, Heroin

a4a5274e6563d93830ce2749567ff04f907ea5ff_1

a4a5274e6563d93830ce2749567ff04f907ea5ff_1_1

Q: What drugs does the Lieutenant use? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

Crack and heroin.

a4a5274e6563d93830ce2749567ff04f907ea5ff_2

a4a5274e6563d93830ce2749567ff04f907ea5ff_2_0

Q: What sporting team does the Lieutenant bet for? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

Dodgers

a4a5274e6563d93830ce2749567ff04f907ea5ff_3

a4a5274e6563d93830ce2749567ff04f907ea5ff_3_0

Q: What crime is committed against the Nun? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

Rape

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Q: What crime is committed against the Nun? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

She is raped.

a4a5274e6563d93830ce2749567ff04f907ea5ff_4

a4a5274e6563d93830ce2749567ff04f907ea5ff_4_0

Q: How much is the wager the Lieutenant unable to pay? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

$30,000

a4a5274e6563d93830ce2749567ff04f907ea5ff_4

a4a5274e6563d93830ce2749567ff04f907ea5ff_4_1

Q: How much is the wager the Lieutenant unable to pay? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

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Q: Which sports team wins the pennant while the Lieutenant hold the two rapist hostage? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

Mets

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a4a5274e6563d93830ce2749567ff04f907ea5ff_6_0

Q: What does the Lieutenant doe with the two rapist after freeing them? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

Puts them on a bus with a cigar box holding $30,000

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Q: What does the Lieutenant doe with the two rapist after freeing them? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

Puts them on a bus with 30,000 dollars in a cigar box.

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Q: By what method is the Lieutenant killed? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

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Q: By what method is the Lieutenant killed? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

He is shot.

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Q: What sort of school does the Lieutenants children attend? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

Catholic

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Q: What sort of school does the Lieutenants children attend? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

Catholic school.

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Q: The Lieutenant suffers from what two addictions? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

Drugs and Gambling

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a4a5274e6563d93830ce2749567ff04f907ea5ff_10_0

Q: Is the Lieutenant a drug user? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

He uses drugs multiple times.

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Q: Is the Lieutenant a drug user? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

Yes.

a4a5274e6563d93830ce2749567ff04f907ea5ff_11

a4a5274e6563d93830ce2749567ff04f907ea5ff_11_0

Q: What happens to the drugs that the Lieutenant puts in his pocket? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

They fall out of his pocket in front of his colleagues.

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Q: What happens to the drugs that the Lieutenant puts in his pocket? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

They fall out in front of coworkers.

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Q: Where do the Lieutenant's children go to school? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

They go to a Catholic school.

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Q: Where do the Lieutenant's children go to school? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

A Catholic school.

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Q: What did the Lieutenant do when he saw the crucified Christ? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

He begged for forgiveness of his crimes.

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Q: What did the Lieutenant do when he saw the crucified Christ? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

curses and the begs forgiveness

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a4a5274e6563d93830ce2749567ff04f907ea5ff_14_0

Q: What did the nun say when the Lieutenant vowed to kill her attackers? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

That she had forgiven them.

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Q: What did the nun say when the Lieutenant vowed to kill her attackers? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

She had forgiven them.

a4a5274e6563d93830ce2749567ff04f907ea5ff_15

a4a5274e6563d93830ce2749567ff04f907ea5ff_15_0

Q: Why wouldn't the Lieutenant's friend place a bet on the game? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

His friend thought he would be killed by the bookie.

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Q: Why wouldn't the Lieutenant's friend place a bet on the game? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

His friend fears that the bookie will kill him.

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Q: Who wins the pennant? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

The Mets.

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Q: Who wins the pennant? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

Mets.

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Q: How much money does the Lieutenant give the two rapists? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

He gives them $30,000.

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a4a5274e6563d93830ce2749567ff04f907ea5ff_17_1

Q: How much money does the Lieutenant give the two rapists? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

$30,000

a4a5274e6563d93830ce2749567ff04f907ea5ff_18

a4a5274e6563d93830ce2749567ff04f907ea5ff_18_0

Q: How does the Lieutenant die? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

He is shot twice.

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Q: How does the Lieutenant die? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

he got shot

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Q: What are the last two words the Lieutenant hears? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

Hey, cop!

a4a5274e6563d93830ce2749567ff04f907ea5ff_19

a4a5274e6563d93830ce2749567ff04f907ea5ff_19_1

Q: What are the last two words the Lieutenant hears? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

Hey Cop!

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Q: What does the Lieutenant do after he drops his kids at school? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

He takes a couple of bumps of cocaine and drives to a double murder scene.

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Q: What does the Lieutenant do after he drops his kids at school? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

Does drugs and heads to a crime scene.

a4a5274e6563d93830ce2749567ff04f907ea5ff_21

a4a5274e6563d93830ce2749567ff04f907ea5ff_21_0

Q: After wandering away from crime scene what is the interaction that the Lieutenant has with a local drug dealer? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

The lieutenant gives the dealer a back of drugs and is told that the he will get the money from the sale of those drugs in a few days.

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Q: After wandering away from crime scene what is the interaction that the Lieutenant has with a local drug dealer? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

gives him drugs and smokes with him

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Q: What does the Lieutenant do after he give the drugs to the dealer? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

He goes to an apartment and gets drunk engaging in a threesome with a couple of women.

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Q: What does the Lieutenant do after he give the drugs to the dealer? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

He gets drunk and has a threesome.

a4a5274e6563d93830ce2749567ff04f907ea5ff_23

a4a5274e6563d93830ce2749567ff04f907ea5ff_23_0

Q: What happens in the community while the Lieutenant is engaged in his illicit activities? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

A num in the community gets raped by two men.

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Q: What happens in the community while the Lieutenant is engaged in his illicit activities? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

the nun is raped in a church by two young hoodlums

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Q: After stealing drugs from a crime scene, and having them fall from his pocket, what does the Lieutenant instruct his team to do? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

He tells them to enter them into evidence as part of a crime scene.

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Q: After stealing drugs from a crime scene, and having them fall from his pocket, what does the Lieutenant instruct his team to do? Text: "BAD LIEUTENANT" by Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund <b> 11/25/90 </b> <b> FIRST DRAFT </b> <b> </b> This story takes place during a World Series between the Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry is still with New York. <b> DAY ONE: </b> <b> GAME THREE: LT WINS </b> <b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES. The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside <b> LT'S HOUSE. </b> LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY. LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung- over. LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES, puts them on. LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy. The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS. Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip them up. LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP and the LAWN. As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical. They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS pile into LT'S CAR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - LT'S CAR - EN ROUTE TO/AT PAROCHIAL SCHOOL </b> The CAR is obviously LT's home away from home. FOOD DEBRIS, BEER CANS, VODKA BOTTLES and other garbage litter the interior. An impressive HAND-GUN is visible between the seats. An old ICON of MOTHER MARY rides on the DASHBOARD. As the TWINS get in, LT tries to hide the GUN and the illicit detritus. To little avail. The TWINS pay no mind to his machinations; they have evidently seen it all before. As LT drives the TWINS to SCHOOL, the three play wild rough- house. The CAR swerves crazily. <b> LT </b> How many times are you gonna miss the bus? Huh? All the other kids can get up in the morning, but you guys wanna be driven around like the fucking President. I'm your goddamn chauffeur! <b> TWINS </b> (each taking alternate, overlapping lines) Shit, man. It wasn't our fault! -- You think Sis is so perfect, well, if she hadn't hogged the fucking bathroom, maybe we -- I thought Aunt Lu was dead! She was in there so long... <b> LT </b> Shut up! Listen! ON RADIO: Chatter about Mets winning last night's game. It was the THIRD GAME straight that they've won so far. One more game -- set for tomorrow afternoon -- and the Mets will sweep the World Series. All listen. <b> TWIN </b> They're gonna win the Series in four! <b> LT </b> All the way with Strawberry! <b> TWINS </b> (in unison) Strawberry! The TWINS whoop and shout, celebrating LT's -- and their own -- favorite player. They pass the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BUS. It has stopped for a moment taking on KIDS. LT cuts off the TWINS' tirade. <b> LT </b> Shit, man -- there's your fucking bus I oughtta make you late! Make the nuns whack the shit outa ya both. LT and the TWINS banter back and forth, poke each other and box around. The apparent hostility of their words is balanced by the laughter and gung-ho play of the rough-housing. The TWINS yell cat-calls as they drive past a BLONDE PEDESTRIAN. LT joins in. ANGLE - Through the WINDSHIELD, the PAROCHIAL SCHOOL comes into view. A CROWD of UNIFORMED KIDS is gathered outside. SEVERAL NUNS turn the CROWD into two neat rows, and usher the KIDS inside. <b> POV LT - THE NUNS </b> <b> LT </b> Get going. The TWINS get out. Join the line of students entering the <b> SCHOOL. </b> The instant the KIDS have left the CAR -- LT takes out some COKE. Snorts it. He takes his GUN out of hiding. LT steers with his knees as he drives off toward the City. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - QUEENS - CRIME SCENE </b> ANGLE - A CAR WINDSHIELD. Blood-spattered and shot up. The DEAD BODIES of TWO GIRLS are in the front seat. LT gets out of his CAR and makes his way through the COPS and GAWKERS. The BET COP comes up to LT. <b> BET COP </b> Two Black kids came up out of nowhere and shot those chicks. Then they laughed as they walked away. The Press is gonna call it the "Giggling Man Murders." I'll tell ya. What a world. LT gives a cursory glance to the crime scene. A couple of COPS greet him; LT keeps walking. The BET COP digs his attitude. <b> BET COP </b> But hey -- we make the best of it, man, don't we? Huh? How about them Mets! FOLLOW LT - over to a GROUP of COPS. They greet him and everyone immediately crams into a parked CAR. The CAR stays parked for the duration of their meeting. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON - UNMARKED COP CAR (PARKED) - QUEENS </b> Now that LT, the BET COP and the OTHER COPS are inside the CAR, they can do business. LT pays several COPS their WINNINGS for last night's game. CASH and congratulatory banter is exchanged. Now LT has to take their BETS for tomorrow afternoon's GAME, the FOURTH GAME of the World Series. LT urges the COPS to bet against the Mets. <b> LT </b> No fucking way they're gonna do it in four games straight. <b> COP ONE </b> You serious, man? I wanna go Mets all the way! <b> LT </b> Go ahead, man.If you've got shit for brains. But if you wanna win the bucks, go with Oakland. <b> COP TWO </b> I thought Strawberry was gonna -- <b> LT </b> I know that nigger like he's my brother. He ain't gonna let us off so easy. He'll make us sweat first. This game's going to Oakland. Not a doubt in my mind, man. Silence. The COPS think about it for a moment. BET COP speaks up first; hands LT some CASH. When he talks to LT, his fawning posture is obvious. <b> BET COP </b> I'm in. Here. COP ONE SHRUGS his assent, gives CASH to LT. The OTHER COPS follow his example, place their BETS on OAKLAND. The COP BETS total $800 -- on OAKLAND. LT has obviously been the bookie for this precinct for a long time. He takes care of a lot of action and has these guy's faith. LT nods a goodbye, quickly gets out of the CAR. The BET COP and the OTHER COPS remain inside. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - PAY PHONE - MIDTOWN - 38TH STREET & 3RD </b><b> AVENUE </b> LT pulls up alone beside a PHONE BOOTH and phones in the COPS' bets and his own to LITE. More than an anonymous connection to the BOOKIE, LITE is obviously LT's old friend -- and a hustler just like himself. LT shouts into the PHONE and holds it close to his ear. The TRAFFIC NOISE is loud and irritating. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) I got them all going for Oakland. With bullshit money. We'll cover the <b> $800. </b> <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right. What are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I want 15 on the Mets. <b> LITE </b><b> (OC) </b> How about 7 1/2? ACROSS THE STREET - TWO GUYS approach a BUSINESSMAN in a raincoat and flash a KNIFE. The BUSINESSMAN gives up his WALLET and his WATCH. LT pays no mind to the robbery. <b> LT </b> Hey, man. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pussy-out on me. The Mets are a fucking lock. I wanna make some money. <b> LITE </b> Are you sure? <b> LT </b> Yeah. I'm sure. LT hangs up the PHONE, heads back toward his parked CAR. By this time, the BUSINESSMAN is running into the street, waving his arms and screaming. <b> BUSINESSMAN </b> Police! Police! Help me! Police! LT enters his car, drives off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - CRACK CITY </b> LT arrives, leading a BUST. Lots of COPS. LT chases a handsome young COKE DEALER, JC, cornering him a couple flights up a staircase. Now they're alone and the phony pantomime is over. <b> LT </b> Hey, man, gimme something cooked! JC gives it to him with a PIPE. LT takes a drag of CRACK. Then LT gives JC a large BAG of COKE, labelled "Exhibit A". <b> LT </b> It's good shit. From when they busted those Columbians uptown. You can cut it in half. JC nods, bemused by LT's manic behavior. JC, in contrast, is mellow and in control. LT smokes; JC doesn't. LT COUGHS and SMOKES as he shouts to COPS downstairs (OFF). <b> LT </b> I got this guy. But there's someone across the street on the roof! The COPS (OFF) rush out of the building. JC watches LT smoking like a fiend. <b> JC </b> That stuff'll kill you quick, man. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are you? A drug counselor or a drug dealer? And you don't even do your own product! What kind of businessman are you? <b> JC </b> The rich kind. (shakes his head) Jeez, man. The way you smoke that shit is suicide. <b> LT </b> Fuck you. (takes a deep hit) Just give me back a little something for the road. LT takes a handful of the COKE and puts it in a DOLLAR BILL; pockets it. <b> JC </b> See you in a coupla days. Have the cash ready. JC splits, runs up the stairs. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> Religious/hip artifacts abound. It's a nice, if messy apartment. However, it is definitely not large enough to merit the $3,500 that ARIANE quotes as her rent. ARIANE is LT's mistress. BOWTAY, her girlfriend, lounges on the COUCH. BOWTAY plays the third when LT is in the mood for a menage a trois. She's around a lot. BOWTAY is already zonked out on something. Maybe LUDES. <b> ARIANE </b> Got something good for us? LT gives her the COKE. ARIANE takes some immediately. BOWTAY sloppily partakes. Before LT can even sit down, the GIRLS start bitching. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm gonna need some bread, man. This ain't fair. I'm always here for you, and you can't even take decent care of me. My landlord is bitching like a motherfucker! You're two months behind on the rent, Lieutenant! <b> LT </b> Didya ever think of moving to a cheaper apartment? $3,500 a month is crazy, man! <b> ARIANE </b> It's nothing. This is New York, man... (beat) Oh -- I forgot. Bowtay needs some cash to buy her new acting headshots out of the developers. It's a good investment, man. She could make serious money! ANGLE - BOWTAY on the COUCH. It's obvious that she's going nowhere. And fast. <b> ARIANE </b> We've been rehearsing a new monologue. From Shad's Saint Joan, you know? Bowtay does it wonderfully well. LT breaks out more COKE and some GRASS. <b> LT </b> All right, Bowtay. Show us your stuff. ARIANE lifts BOWTAY to her feet. BOWTAY staggers into the center of the room, then falls back down on her knees. It happens to be appropriate for the scene. BOWTAY begins to recite the monologue from the very end of the play. "When will the world be ready to receive thy saints?", etc. BOWTAY messes up a line; ARIANE lashes her with a BELT. BOWTAY doesn't move, continues reciting. ARIANE joins in from time to time. LT is turned on. He begins KISSING ARIANE, then goes down onto the floor. BOWTAY is there already. Kinky trio sex scene. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATER THAT NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN </b> It's evidently an hour or so later. The KITCHEN is very bachelorette. No FOOD or COOKING IMPLEMENTS in sight. LT is messing around, looking for something to DRINK. He opens the REFRIGERATOR. POV LT - CU - The REFRIGERATOR is entirely empty, save for a few suspect and peculiar items. There is nothing in liquid form. LT hears ARIANE calling to him from the LIVING ROOM. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) There's nothing! It's clear from the SEX SOUNDS (OC), that ARIANE and BOWTAY are still going at it. <b> ARIANE </b> (OC - calling to LT) Go out and get some Diet Cokes. LT obeys. He leaves the KITCHEN. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM </b> LT passes through the LIVING ROOM, putting on his CLOTHING as he heads for the DOOR to OUTSIDE. The GIRLS don't miss a sexual beat. They continue what is now a menage a deux. They won't miss LT while he's gone. LT splits. No good-byes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: LATE NIGHT - KOREAN DELI </b> LT approaches the market where he intends to buy the DIET <b> COKES. </b> A display of FRESH FRUITS & VEGETABLES extends onto the sidewalk. LT notices a SQUAD CAR, parked in front of the MARKET. LT picks up his pace. Closer now, LT sees a YOUNG UNIFORMED COP outside, standing with the KOREAN OWNER, an elderly man who doesn't speak much English. The OWNER is agitated and out of breath. He argues fiercely with TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. A SQUAD CAR is parked in front of the MARKET. LT gets an idea. He takes command. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) What's going on? The UNIFORMED COP is a timid rookie. <b> COP </b> Uh, Lieutenant, Sir -- The owner says they stole cash from the register. He was chasing them down the block when I caught up with them. The KOREAN OWNER is still agitated. He tries to give his side of the story, mixing English and Korean. At the same time -- The TWO BLACK KIDS plead their case. They try to drown out the OWNER. It all gets rather noisy. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't do nothing, man ! LT shouts in the YOUNG BLACK KID'S FACE. It's shockingly loud. <b> LT </b> Shut the fuck up! LT turns to the UNIFORMED COP. <b> LT </b> (to Cop) Go get me a Bud. A High Boy. And make sure it's fucking cold. (indicates the situation at hand) I'll straighten this out. The UNIFORMED COP looks at LT for a moment, then goes. LT is now alone with the KOREAN OWNER and the TWO YOUNG BLACK <b> KIDS. </b> LT turns to the OWNER. <b> LT </b> How much did they take? <b> KOREAN OWNER </b> Five hundred dollars cash. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS continue protesting their innocence. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We didn't -- LT whips out his GUN and shoots a deafening BLAST between the TWO KIDS' heads.It almost takes off the left ear of one and the right ear of the other. The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS are stunned. Speechless. The YOUNG UNIFORMED COP rushes out of the MARKET, GUN raised in one hand, BEER CAN in the other. He's relieved that a cop wasn't shot, but the whole situation makes him uneasy. LT grabs the BEER, points to the KOREAN OWNER. <b> LT </b> (orders the Cop) Take this guy down to the Precinct. I need to talk to him. The OWNER protests wildly in Korean as the flustered COP ushers him into a waiting SQUAD CAR. They drive off. Now LT is alone with the TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS. LT takes the KIDS inside at gunpoint. INT: The store appears to be deserted. <b> LT </b> Gimme the money! Now! The TWO YOUNG BLACK KIDS have regained some of their cool. They are still belligerent. <b> YOUNG BLACK KID </b> We told you, man. We didn't take no -- LT jams his GUN down the PANTS of one of the KIDS. At the same time, he whips out his BADGE and thrusts it into the other KID'S FACE. <b> LT </b> Give me the fucking money, assholes! They give LT the CASH. The KIDS stand there. <b> LT </b> What the fuck are ya standing there for? Be gone! The KIDS, stunned, split. LT swaggers around the store, GUN in hand, drinking the BEER, assessing the inventory with a proprietary air. He pretends to SHOOT at various products. Plays around. In the back aisle, LT aims his GUN at a BIG BOX of TOILET <b> PAPER. </b> While he holds the TOILET PAPER at bay, a THIRTEEN YEAR-OLD KOREAN KID rises up from behind it, his hands up, terrified. LT LAUGHS, then puts the GUN away. <b> LT </b> Take over until your boss gets back. Gimme a 6 of Diet Cokes and a 6 of Budweiser. On LT's smiling face, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: DAWN - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> BOWTAY is curled up on the floor, asleep. ARIANE is busy with a GOBLET, some TIN FOIL and other esoteric stuff. LT comes through the door with the SIX-PACK of DIET COKES and the SIX-PACK of BUDWEISER. He puts them down, takes a BEER for himself. ARIANE doesn't turn around. She's busy preparing drugs. <b> ARIANE </b> I got you a present. Better shit then you got, cop! LT comes and looks over her shoulder. He sees -- A PILE of BROWN HEROIN on a TIN FOIL SHEET. ARIANE is preparing the implements for "chasing the dragon." BOWTAY rolls over, sprawls on the floor in an even sexier position. On her face, an expression of utter bliss. LT abandons the BEER. <b> LT </b> Brown Downtown... There hasn't been any smoking brown on the street in -- <b> ARIANE </b> Who said anything about the fucking street. I've got more connects than you have, Lieutenant... ARIANE helps LT with the thin, TIN FOIL PIPE. She burns the SMACK on the TIN FOIL SHEET for him so that he can manage to inhale the PLUME OF SMOKE in time. He gets a nice, deep hit. ARIANE gracefully takes a hit of her own. They are both very high, already. Beginning to NOD OUT. ARIANE goes back to the IMPLEMENTS and prepares another hit. This time she catches the SMOKE in a SHERRY GOBLET and LT drinks it. LT is very high now. A meditative, hallucinatory state. ARIANE takes a DIET COKE and lies down on the BED. She slowly sips soda through a straw. Her eyes are closed. LT sits in an EASY CHAIR by the WINDOW. LT NODS OUT while watching the SUNRISE. What we see appears to be HIS DREAM. From the melting RED SUN, we -- <b> DISSOLVE TO: </b> <b> EXT: DAWN (MEANWHILE) CHURCH/CONVENT </b> BLOOD! TWO KIDS are raping a NUN, attacking the SECOND NUN, and shitting on the ALTAR. Going berserk. They steal PURPLE ROBES and the CHALICE. From the FIRST NUN, on her back on the altar, her robes ripped open, a heart-rending pieta, we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY TWO: </b> <b> GAME FOUR: LT LOSES $15,000 </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - LT'S HOME - QUEENS </b> ANGLE - CARTOONS on TV. LT has overslept, out cold on the COUCH. A LITTLE GIRL sits on the floor, two feet from the TV, watching CARTOONS. Various other members of LT's over-extended FAMILY can be seen moving around the house, going about their business. A CARTOON EXPLOSION wakes LT. He jumps up in a panic. <b> LT </b> Did I win? Shit! The game! LT bounds off the COUCH, Still half-asleep, he crawls to the TV, turns on GAME FOUR. The LITTLE GIRL starts CRYING. <b> LT </b> (to background family members) What's the score? What's the fucking score? An ANCIENT AUNT pokes her head into the LIVING ROOM. <b> ANCIENT AUNT </b> I dunno... She disappears again. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Why me, man? LT leans into the TV, transfixed, as -- ON TV: STRAWBERRY makes a fantastic catch of a Canseco drive with runners on base. LT CHEERS. DOORS SLAM (OFF). The TWINS have come home from school. They burst into the LIVING ROOM, loud as Hell. Furious about something they out-curse each other. <b> LT </b> (to the Twins) Shut the fuck up! Did you see that? <b> TWINS </b> (shrug - in unison) It's 7-0: Oakland. (single Twin) That nigger could have let it drop and gone home. LT curses and stomps around. The TWINS mimic his every move. All three are pissed. The rest of the FAMILY pays no mind. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR </b> LT is furious. He COKES UP. DRINKS heavily. Tired of the SPORTS STATIONS, LT turns on 911. There is a call for an uptown MURDER SCENE. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - 153RD/MARTIN LUTHER KING - CRIME SCENE </b> CU - A YOUNG BLACK DEALER, eyes open, shot dead. LT drives up, sizes up the scene. It's fresh territory. He'll milk it for what it's worth. LT ignores his colleagues, the COPS ON THE SCENE. He knows some of the DEALERS and STREET CHARACTERS on the sidelines. He heads straight for them. LT greets an impressively beautiful, six foot tall TRANSVESTITE. He takes her aside. <b> LT </b> Hey, Veronica baby, looking good! What's going down? LT slips a HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL into VERONICA'S well-filled <b> BRA. </b> <b> VERONICA </b> (confidentially - to <b> LT) </b> Willie got shot by one of his boys. (giggles) But there's a ki under the back seat. <b> LT </b> I'll put it in my trunk. LT saunters up to the MURDER CAR, DEAD WILLIE still in the front seat. LT is obviously berserk to get the KI, but he can't show it. LT susses out the situation. Around him, POLICE TECHNICIAN-TYPES are busy lifting fingerprints and analyzing the CAR and WILLIE -- to no apparent avail. LT uses his Lieutenants' privilege to enter the MURDER CAR and begin his own investigation. TIRE TRACKS are discovered nearby. The OTHER COPS are distracted. LT takes his shot. He reaches for and finds the KI of COCAINE under the BACK SEAT. LT slips it under his COAT and emerges from the MURDER CAR. Outside the MURDER CAR, LT makes to stand up. In the act, he -- DROPS the BAG of COKE! LT is stunned. He can't believe the KI is actually in the shitty, gutter water, in plain view of the other COPS. The COPS spot the KILO of COKE. Even those COPS that were far away, somehow know what has happened. They quickly gather round the MURDER CAR, LT, and the KI. The PLASTIC BAG filled with WHITE POWDER floats on the DEEP <b> PUDDLE. </b> LT is silent wrath incarnate. <b> LT </b> (soft, sardonic) I guess he was a bigtime dealer... (beat) What d'ya know... A kilo of 'caine... Among the gathered COPS, only a SERGEANT is not quite convinced. <b> SERGEANT </b> Where the fuck did that come from? The other COPS ignore the query. LT walks away. LT has successfully covered himself, but he walks off cursing and mumbling. VERONICA is laughing demonstratively in the background. <b> LT </b> (to himself) I can't fucking believe it... LT is further away now from the scene of WILLIE'S murder and his own debacle. LT overhears something. Cuts off his muttering. A group of COPS are talking about the big news from the early morning. <b> COP A </b> But I still can't fucking believe they'd rape a nun, man... LT stops in his tracks. The erotic import of this conversation has seized LT's imagination. He heads toward the cluster of COPS, cuts in. <b> LT </b> (to the Cops) What's this shit about a nun getting raped? <b> COP B </b> Where the fuck have you been? It happened this morning, up at St. Dominiek's in Spanish Harlem. A coupla punks tore up the place and then gave it to the nuns but good. The COPS turn away, continue to talk among themselves. LT walks away. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - A CITY HOSPITAL PARKING LOT </b> LT pulls up. Parks near a group of OTHER COPS, waiting by their CARS. HOSPITAL fauna passes by in the background: DOCTORS, NURSES, PATIENTS in all stages of recovery or relapse. The HOSPITAL itself rises in the background. It looks like a prison. LT leaves his CAR, heads for the GROUP of COPS. He joins them, sits down on the HOOD of a nearby CAR. The COPS are all DRINKING heavily. Present are the BET COP, and several other FAMILIAR COPS from previous scenes. <b> LT </b> What's going on? <b> FIRST COP </b> They raped a nun and tore up the church -- they even took a crap on the altar. Up in Spanish Harlem. <b> SECOND COP </b> She was only seventeen... A COP opens his TRUNK -- he has a BAR inside. The COPS, including LT, respond enthusiastically. DRINK UP. <b> FIRST COP </b> Who the fuck could do this?! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> The young nun's just a kid from Ireland. Imagine having to come here to have that happen! <b> SECOND COP </b> Jesus... What's she gonna tell her mother? <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> I'm gonna kill those motherfuckers. The COPS keep DRINKING. All of them lounging around on or beside the CARS. LT watches quietly, taking it all in. As if following the motto: "He who defines himself, confines himself." <b> THIRD COP </b> The Church already put up a $50,000 reward! <b> FIRST COP </b> Well, one of us is gonna get it. I mean -- get them. The FIRST COP raises a TOAST. <b> FIRST COP </b> Here's to payback for the nuns! The COPS all whoop and cheer. <b> SECOND COP </b> Anyone got any leads, at all? <b> FIRST COP </b> We got shit to go on. Only that list of inventory -- what they stole from the church. <b> THIRD COP </b> Y'know they actually stole those wacky purple robes? And they took the chalice -- with the Host still inside! <b> SECOND COP </b> What did they want with the Host? <b> THIRD COP </b> They were hungry. I dunno. They didn't want to hock the Host, they wanted to hock that golden chalice. COPS avoid each others' eyes. Competition has begun. No one shares information, each after the reward for himself. LT bursts out, swings into high gear. <b> LT </b> Leave it to the Catholic Church, man. Girls get raped everyday, and now they're gonna pay 50 G just because these chicks wore penguin suits! Some of the COPS laugh, others are offended. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> (to LT) What's your fucking problem?! <b> LT </b> The Church is a racket. <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> So what. Are you a Catholic? <b> LT </b> Sure! <b> OLD IRISH COP </b> Do you believe in God? LT doesn't reply. He's thinking. The BET COP and a couple of OTHER, FAMILIAR GAMBLER COPS move in. They've got nothing on their minds but the World Series. <b> BET COP </b> (to LT) To Hell with this God stuff. How's that Strawberry? He does what ever you want him to, huh Lieutenant? Even strike out! (beat) I bet you won a shitload on Oakland. How much, huh? LT comes down off the CAR HOOD. Now he has to feign pride in his supposed big bet on OAKLAND. LT has to convince the COPS to keep betting -- he can't afford to pay them all off. Unfortunately, the COPS all think LT just scored big, himself. <b> LT </b> More than you did. <b> GAMBLER COP TWO </b> Well, let's see some green! <b> LT </b> If you know what's good for you, you'll keep staying on Oakland! <b> BET COP </b> Oakland? Is that how you're going? LT nods "yes." An outright lie. <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Don't you get it? The series has gotta last seven games. The last two did, didn't they? It's a racket. Do you have any idea how much money they make selling television-time for commercials during the series? Especially if it's a New York team? They won't close the gold mine after only four games. It'll last a full seven. Too many people wanna milk it for what it's worth. You'll see! <b> BET COP </b> All right... I'm in. After all, you're the expert. Ain't that right, LT? SEVERAL COPS, including some of the COPS who have been hanging out in front of the HOSPITAL, go double or nothing on OAKLAND. LT takes their BET MONEY -- $900. One COP doesn't go along with the deal. LT painfully pays him off. <b> LT </b> You'll be sorry, man. But if you wanna be a sissy, here's your bread. LT sits back on top of his CAR, DRINKING heavily. He toasts STRAWBERRY. The others are uneasy. Why toast STRAWBERRY? <b> COP ONE </b> Strawberry? I thought we were going with Oakland. <b> LT </b> We are, man! That's the point! If the Mets win, it's thanks to Strawberry. If Oakland wins, it's thanks to Strawberry. Nothing can happen out there on the field that don't gotta do with Strawberry. So here's to Strawberry! The others join in the TOAST, but are uneasy. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - CORRIDORS OF A CITY HOSPITAL - HUNTING FOR </b><b> THE NUN </b> The HOSPITAL is an inferno. LT exploits his cop privileges; shows his BADGE to the GUARDS. He wants to get into the inner sanctum. Beyond where even COPS were allowed to go. He wants to get to the NUN. A sexy NURSE stops him. <b> NURSE </b> Can I help you? LT can't help but check her out and flirt. <b> LT </b> I'm in charge of the investigation. Just checking security. <b> NURSE </b> (Suspicious) Security? <b> LT </b> Do you want those guys coming back? For the nun? Or for you? The NURSE looks at him, unsure, then walks off down the <b> CORRIDOR. </b> LT continues his hunt. He comes upon a DOOR that is plastered with "QUARANTINE" SIGNS. One too many, perhaps. LT senses the NUN is inside. He has to open the DOOR, but hopes he won't get a blast of disease in his face. He CROSSES himself -- wearing a smirk, but nonetheless. Going on instinct, LT opens the door a crack. He's right. It's the NUN. He positions himself outside the DOOR, keeping it open a few inches. He peeks inside without being seen. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - THE NUN'S HOSPITAL EXAMINING ROOM </b> From just outside the door, LT peep-toms on the NUN while she is being examined. He sees her stark naked, laid out on a table, her legs spread wide apart. The DOCTORS, NURSES, COUNSELORS work on the NUN as if they are automatons. They don't grasp either the humanity or the trotitism of the scene. LT does. The image of The Alabaster Nun turns him on no end. Yet there is also a deeper pathos to the scene. And the NUN is spectacularly beautiful. She doesn't speak. Looks like a Pieta. A DOCTOR in a WHITE-COAT reads the MEDICAL REPORT to a FEMALE COP. The FEMALE COP writes down the details on a hard-backed pad. As if it's a parking ticket. The moving contrast between the words and the image seems to be apparent to LT -- and the NUN -- alone. <b> DOCTOR </b> (to Female Cop) They inserted a crucifix eleven centimeters into her vaginal aperture, breaking the hymen membrane. Then they pursued the same course with their natural organs of sexual penetration. They used a sharp object, probably a hunting knife with a curved blade, to carve a cross between her shoulder blades, entering the flesh an average of nearly one centimeter throughout the area of the wound. They -- Finally, as if she knew he was there all along, the NUN looks up at where LT is hiding and boldly meets his eyes. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT has been there for some time. They are alone. They've both been DRINKING and COKING. LT is carrying on about the NUN. As he speaks about various subjects, his tone changes radically. From contempt and cynicism to profound reverence. From decadence -- to awe. ARIANE, too, manages to switch from one attitude to the other. <b> LT </b> Have you ever seen a naked nun? I tell you, man, I went to school with the nuns, I've seen hundreds since then and I've never even seen a nun's belly button, you understand? But this nun, let me tell you. What a beautiful lady... (snaps out of his awe) And where'd the Church get the 50 G in the first place? The fucking Church is the biggest scam going. You know what's the real killer? It costs $8,000 per kid for them to go to parochial school. I've got three kids in there already, with two on the way! Christ. That fucking reward is my money, man! But that's Church policy. The Pope is the world's biggest bookie. Makes people bet on their own salvation! Double or nothing on Heaven. You go to Hell -- then go to Hell. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was bullshit. ARIANE can't stop thinking about the rape. <b> ARIANE </b> I can't get over what those guys did to her. I just can't. <b> LT </b> They're alive, aren't they? Come on, man! Everyone's making such a fucking fuss, just because she's a nun. Just because she wears a penguin suit, the church puts up 50 G for the guys who dared to rape her. Do you think they'd put up a dime if you got raped? Of course not. Or even for your little sister? The virgin? Like shit they would. <b> ARIANE </b> Susie's not a virgin anymore. <b> LT </b> She's fucking nine years old! Jesus Christ. ARIANE suddenly starts up. <b> ARIANE </b> And the nun's not a virgin anymore, either. Will they make her leave the convent? LT thinks for a moment. <b> LT </b> Who knows? Who knows what their policy is. (sudden dreamy reverence) But I'll tell you, man, that nun... She was beautiful. Just beautiful... Tall... Real tall... I've never seen anything like it... LT snaps out once again, grabs the TELEPHONE. He dials LITE. He's not in. LT leaves ARIANE'S NUMBER on LIMELITE'S BEEPER. Hangs up. <b> LT </b> (to himself) Lite, man... Where the fuck are you? ARIANE can't get the image of the rape out of her mind. <b> ARIANE </b> It's horrible. They burned her breasts with cigarettes. Christ. <b> LT </b> Yeah? At least she's alive! I see people get killed every day! Worse yet, tortured first and then killed! The nuns got off easy. Jeez. Cigarette burns. Everyone's all upset about fucking cigarette burns. I'll show you cigarette burns! LT stubs out his CIGARETTE on the back of his hand. He does the move with intensity and bravado. ARIANE responds by calmly doing the same. But she does it entirely impassively, and rubs the CIGARETTE into her flesh longer than LT did. ARIANE comes over to LT and starts kissing and licking his <b> CHEST. </b> <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?. LT hesitates. ARIANE kneels down in front of LT. As if in prayer. She starts giving him head. Before he can answer The Question, he is saved by the bell. The PHONE RINGS. LT picks up immediately. It's LITE. As LT speaks to LITE, ARIANE continues to give him head. <b> LT </b> (to LITE; over the phone) Yeah, I know, I know all about it. Enough already about the fucking nuns. Yeah. Yeah. So just take the bet. Don't give me any hassles, man. Just put in my bet. 30 G's. Yeah. And I got $900 from the cops on Oakland. Yeah. Right. Strawberry's gonna knock em dead. Of course he is! You know that! Yeah. Yeah. Have faith, man! OK. Right. LT hangs up, thinks ARIANE won't resurface the God Question. ARIANE does, even as she gives him head. Every time she speaks, she pulls away and it frustrates him. This dialectic continues throughout the scene. <b> ARIANE </b> Do you believe in God? LT thinks about it, even as ARIANE gets him hotter and hotter. <b> LT </b> The Church is a fucking racket. I know how they operate. I've been part of the racket since the first time some faggot priest spilt water on my head. My Aunt Lu says I was crying all the way through. Yeah, I know their game inside out. Now I'm free of it and I'm gonna stay that way. <b> ARIANE </b> I'm not talking about the fucking Church. Fuck the Church. But tell me. Do you believe in God? <b> LT </b> What's to believe? <b> ARIANE </b> That Jesus Christ was the Son of God and he came to die for your sins. LT can't respond. He's distracted by his own pleasure. ARIANE does something OC that causes LT sudden pain. LT cries out. Snaps to attention. Looks at ARIANE. <b> ARIANE </b> Your sins, Lieutenant! (beat) And look around you! Where do you think all this shit came from? ARIANE gives him head again. LT is more excited now than before she hurt him. <b> LT </b> People. <b> ARIANE </b> You believe that man is the be-all and end-all? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> OK. OK. Fine. But -- do you believe in God? As if in answer. LT begins to RECITE THE ACT OF CONTRITION <b> LT </b> I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth... This turns on ARIANE. She stops talking. Writhes and grapples him. LT is reaching climax. When describing Jesus rising again -- LT has an orgasm. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: VERY LATE NIGHT - LT'S CAR </b> LT drives, DRUNK and fired-up. He has a BOTTLE of VODKA in the CAR. POV LT - A CAR with only one TAILLIGHT. A Cyclops in the darkness. Under a STREETLIGHT, JERSEY PLATES are visible. So are the two inebriated, leather-clad GIRLS inside. LT pulls them over. LT comes on to them. He's way out there. The GIRLS are smashed. LT notes their "Heavy Metal" CROSSES, and questions them. <b> LT </b> You wouldn't put some religious trip on me, would you? <b> JERSEY GIRL </b> Uh-uh... What? <b> LT </b> Good. Show me your papers. LT looks at their PAPERS. Points to the name to which the CAR is registered. <b> LT </b> Who's this person? It ain't you, and it ain't you, so who is it? <b> GIRL </b> My Aunt. <b> LT </b> So you took the car from you Aunt. Stole it. Am I right? <b> GIRL </b> We were gonna give it back! We're on our way home, now! <b> LT </b> Yeah, yeah. LT gets into the CAR, looks around. He finds a BAG OF POT. LT waves the POT in front of the GIRLS. <b> LT </b> Now why don't I just call up your Aunt right now and tell her what's gone down. How about that? The GIRLS are petrified. LT grins. He takes out his own ROLLING PAPER, starts to ROLL a JOINT with their POT. <b> LT </b> Well, I'm sure we could arrange something... Unless you fancy a few days in jail... He blackmails them into humiliating sex scenes. On a side street off Eleventh Avenue, LT plays it out until dawn. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY THREE: </b> <b> GAME FIVE: LT LOSES $30,000 </b> <b> EXT INT: DAWN - THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT drives up erratically and parks his CAR in front of the <b> CHURCH/CONVENT. </b> LT stumbles into the CHURCH. Alone now, he notes various aspects of the DESECRATION, but can't see much because he's blind drunk. The enormous, graphically bloody CRUCIFIX confronts him. He collapses immediately into a PEW. Sleeps. <b> TIME PASSES </b> <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: MORNING - CHURCH/CONVENT </b> LT wakes up. Ruckus all around him. The COPS are there in force -- including some of the guys from the BAR, the UPTOWN MURDER and the HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. They are privately checking out the Scene of the Crime, looking for leads that will give them an advantage. Everyone wants the TWO NUNS to talk. The NUNS are in a circle of interrogators. At first, LT can't even see them. The ELDERLY NUN was attacked but not raped. They carved crosses on her. In the background, the questioning has already begun. The interrogators become increasingly frustrated. It can be heard in their voices. They want the reward, and -- despite a certain constipated "respect" in their attitude -- the COPS are willing to browbeat the NUNS to get it. LT silently bums a COFFEE off a COP and staggers into the ring. LT hangs back in the crowd, staring at the YOUNG NUN as the COPS interrogate both NUNS. <b> COP 1 </b> Can't you tell us anything? Sisters? Anything at all? The ELDERLY NUN speaks up. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> They broke my glasses. I didn't see anything, but I did hear them. They were young. And there were two of them. They spoke Spanish. One of them was named Julio. LT, on the sidelines, turns to an OLDER COP. LT mutters his commentary <b> LT </b> (to Older Cop) Julio. Great. There are 20,000 spics named "Julio". The ELDERLY NUN lowers her head. Shamed. <b> ELDERLY NUN </b> I would tell you more if I could. I am so sorry, Officers. Now the COPS are magnetized by the YOUNG NUN. She does not appear to need GLASSES. Evidently, she could give the COPS what they want. <b> COP 2 </b> What about you, Sister? Won't you tell us anything? LT watches the YOUNG NUN as -- POV LT - The YOUNG NUN smiles a quiet, intractable smile. COP 2 is screaming mad, but tries to hide it. LT has observed their interaction. Though he would have loved to have heard some information from the YOUNG NUN, her defiance gives him even more pleasure. The MONSIGNOR comes forward to "translate" the NUNS' stubborn silence. He is possessed by a conventional sort of ambition -- this is his big chance. He would like to be Cardinal some day, but never will be. He enjoys the spotlight as he pontificates. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. One nun is nearly 80 years old. I'm not from this Church, of course, but I assume they'll be getting her a new pair of glasses. Apparently she's legally blind without them. The Sister who suffered a rape is just 17. She arrived from Ireland only a couple of months ago. This -- event -- is just too much for them to take! The MONSIGNOR clears his throat demonstratively, takes a dicitous tone. <b> MONSIGNOR </b> Listen. The Church would like to know who did it just as much as the NYPD. These arrant criminals broke the laws of man, and the laws of God. The Church wants nothing more than to see them behind bars. That's why we're offering the $50,000 reward to whomever brings them in. I'm sure our hero will be one of New York's Finest. The YOUNG NUN shoots the MONSIGNOR an offended look. It appears for a moment as if the YOUNG NUN makes eye contact with LT. But he can't be sure. LT leaves the crowd, disappears out the DOOR. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - RUSH HOUR - LT'S CAR - 54TH STREET AT </b><b> FIFTH AVENUE </b> LT is driving through HEAVY TRAFFIC while listening to GAME FIVE on the RADIO. He COKES UP. He mumbles to himself. GAME FIVE is close, and features STRAWBERRY. As LT listens, he reacts physically to the changing status of the game. He drives crazy through the streets, pounds the ceiling. He's so COKED, he's bouncing out of his skin. LT drinks VODKA out of a PINT BOTTLE in his COAT. STRAWBERRY overthrows a sacrifice fly from Canseco and the A's WIN. LT shoots out the CAR RADIO. LT LOSES! He's $30,000 down. Covering himself, he puts the LIGHTS on top of his CAR. Turns the SIREN on. Screaming CURSES, he drives through the streets, careening like a madman. PEDESTRIANS run away in terror. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON "WHITE" CHURCH HIS DAUGHTER'S FIRST </b><b> COMMUNION </b> CU LT'S EIGHT YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER takes the WAFER for the first time. LT is dressed to kill. Looks like a corpse. He watches his DAUGHTER'S First Communion and is truly moved. Remembers his own past. While the rest of the attendant EXTENDED FAMILY, FRIENDS, and SOME COPS enter the COMMUNION PARADE, LT stands alone at the back of the CHURCH like an usher. He holds the COLLECTION BASKET and quietly watches the whole scene. LT, his betting friend who is not a cop comes up beside him. <b> LITE </b> OK asshole. You owe thirty grand. Now what are you gonna do? <b> LT </b> I wanna go double or nothing on the next game. <b> LITE </b> Double or nothing? Are you fucking out of your mind? <b> LT </b> I'm not gonna let that bastard take my money <b> LITE </b> Take your money? This guy will blow up your house and everyone in it! <b> LT </b> (stoic) There's just no way the Mets will lose this game. Gooden is pitching and Strawberry is ready to break out. LITE looks his friend up and down as if he's lost his mind. <b> LITE </b> Fuck Strawberry. You're gonna end up owing 60 G to a homicidal maniac! <b> LT </b> That's my problem. Just put in my bet. LITE gestures assent, but is not happy. He waits a moment, looks around. POV LITE - LT'S FRIENDS and FAMILY. LT'S DAUGHTER in her <b> COMMUNION DRESS. </b> From the pristine interior of the "WHITE CHURCH" we -- <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: AFTERNOON THE CHURCH/CONVENT </b> The interior of the CHURCH/CONVENT is still desecrated. In stark contrast to the "White Church" (above, Scene 22). POLICE ROPES have cordoned off certain desecrated areas of the CHURCH. In other places, MOPS and SLOPPY BUCKETS of SHIT- WATER wait for someone to finish cleaning up. LT appears to be entirely alone in the CHURCH. He is desperate for clues. He searches for leads and perhaps, for something else... CU - He lights a CANDLE, gives a QUARTER -- Then LT lights his CRACKPIPE ever the FLAME. Suddenly the NUN appears. LT hides, watches as the NUN enters the CONFESSIONAL Once she is ensconced inside, LT stealthly approaches the CONFESSIONAL and from right outside -- a tantalizing proximity -- he listens as she confesses to the PRIEST. (This is an elderly PRIEST with a striking, unusual voice. Not the MONSIGNOR from the COPS' interrogation of the NUNS. Scene 20.) <b> NUN </b> Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession. Father, my sin is a terrible sin. A sin of omission. There was another sin that happened at the same time, and in the same place, but my sin I think was graver stil. <b> PRIEST </b> Sister, we all know what happened to you yesterday morning. I expected that you would want to speak to me about it. But you could have come to my office. Your being here, in the confessional, implies that you, Sister, have done something wrong. You haven't. I assure you. I feared you might have misplaced feelings of guilt. If you condemn yourself because you experienced feelings of... curiosity or even... pleasure, you mustn't -- The NUN LAUGHS. At first, it sounds like crying. But it is a strange, low laughter. <b> NUN </b> Father, if it was so trivial, so natural, so -- No. I have sinned. And you must listen if you are to prescribe an appropriate act of contrition, and to absolve me. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your arms to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> It's funny, you knew. But the first thing I think of is kneading the bread that I help bake for the soup kitchen. Maybe that's because my the muscles in my arms still hurt. <b> NUN </b> I also thought of that bread, Father. And of that night six days ago when the Mother Superior died, and I kept the cool, damp cloth on her forehead freshly moist. Father, what would you do if you had but one day in which to use your legs to serve God? <b> PRIEST </b> I think of running for help, and falling to my knees in prayer. <b> NUN </b> As I have prayed day and night since the desecration of this church yesterday morning -- and my sin. You see, Father -- <b> PRIEST </b> Yes, Sister? <b> NUN </b> Yesterday morning, God gave me but one chance to use something else to serve Him. Not my arms or my legs, but something I used for the first time, for the last time, and will never use again. My vagina. Outside the CONFESSIONAL. LT reacts to the explicit word. Shock. Titillation and fascination. <b> NUN </b> Those boys, those sad, raging boys... They came to me as the needy do. And like many of the needy, they were rude. Like all the needy, they took. And like all the needy, they needed. (beat) Father. I knew them; They learn in our school. And play in our schoolyard. And they are good boys. <b> PRIEST </b> You knew them? (beat) Who were they, Sister? Who are these boys? What are the names of these -- good boys you knew? Outside the CONFESSIONAL, LT stiffens. This could be the clue he needs to solve the case. <b> NUN </b> I could tell you their names now, and I know you'd be bound by a sacred vow to keep my secret. But I cannot tell you their names. For I, too, am bound. As I am bound now to confess my sins. So listen, Father Listen. (beat) I am a nun. What did I give those boys that they could not have found elsewhere? Nothing. Nothing at all. There were always two of us in the act. The act was half my own. It does not seem to me the act was half the act of a once of Christ. (beat) It is the lost chance that will remain on the ledger of my sins. Not the loss of my virginity. The rape forced upon me a choice. As a vessel of the spirit. I could have imbued my vagina with God. Or, I could have turned away from God and voided my body of spirit, so that all that was left for those boys was a lump of flesh. I chose the second path. The easier, path. The path of the material world. The path no nun has the right to take. And so, I sinned. (beat) My vagina spread, but spread no word. It opened, on nothingness. It gave nothing at all and left nothing behind. No trace of my act, yes my act. For I was there, too, remains in the landscape of God. The NUN'S description of the RAPE is both a turn on for LT and a matter of profound curiosity. Something divine. His silent reactions embody both decadence and awe. This apparent paradox can find unified expression in his character, though at other moments it threatens to tear him apart. The tension between the two polarities will propel him toward his destiny. <b> NUN </b> Jesus turned water to wine. I ought to have turned bitter semen to fertile sperm -- hatred to love. And maybe to have saved their souls. They did not love me. I ought to have loved them. As Jesus loved those who reviled him. I ought to have surprised those boys. Instead, they surprised me, and got no surprise at all. No, they did not rape a nun. But a nun has been raped. And the nun must now atone for her sin. For a God-given part of her was wasted. A part which other women use for procreation, for conjugal fulfillment, for expressions of love. I had but one chance. And I did nothing but react in pain. (beat) When those boys placed their hands upon my breasts, they had nothing but an assortment of skin cells in their grasp. They ought to have felt, through me. The bosom of their Redeemer. When they lay on top of me and looked down into my eyes, they saw fear. They should have met the eyes of a lover, And felt the presence of the Prince of Peace... (beat) My vagina. I shall never have again. And never again shall I encounter two boys whose prayer was more legible, more poignant, more anguished. Two young men who threw themselves upon the altar and took me with them. And I did nothing for them. I can only hope that someone will. LT can't help but start up. As if, telepathically, the NUN knew he was there and cried out to him. Asked him to complete her mission. LT senses the confession is over. As the PRIEST begins to speak again, LT snaps to and returns to his original hiding place, near the CANDLES. LT watches as the NUN exits the CONFESSIONAL, KNEELS, holds her ROSARY BEADS, and begins to whisper the ACT OF CONTRITION -- what LT recited as ARIANE gave him head. The NUN does penance. LT watches her, still hidden, and transfixed. Cut from THE NUN to -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> CU - LT fucking a NUN. Its ARIANE. This time LT doesn't rebel against the religious import of these last days. Rather, he incorporates it into their sex. He has dressed ARIANE as a NUN. Now it is silent pantomime that expresses both decadence and awe. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT LT'S HOME QUEENS </b> FOLLOW LT as he walks through his home late at night. Each room has several FAMILY MEMBERS in it, all asleep. Even the TWINS sleep in tandem, on matching BUNK BEDS. LT sits down in the KITCHEN. All is silent, peaceful. A moment passes. LT stands up and goes over to the REFRIGERATOR. He takes out a CARTON OF MILK. Sits back down. DRINKS the MILK. LT calmly looks at what's on the KITCHEN TABLE. A PILE OF BILLS, note attached from his WIFE: "Pay These." A GROUP OF PHOTOS from the COMMUNION, already quickie developed. They are spread out all over the TABLE. A MORNING TABLOID NEWSPAPER, STRAWBERRY featured on the COVER. LT finishes looking at the various artifacts of his life. He sighs, leans back, appears to be -- dare we say it -- at peace. <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FOUR: </b> <b> GAME SIX: LT LOSES $60,000 </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - SHEA STADIUM - THE SIX GAME OF THE </b><b> WORLD SERIES </b> The MASSIVE CROWD ROARS. The STADIUM is decked out in the RED, WHITE, and BLUE BUNTING signifying the WORLD SERIES. A ROW OF UNIFORMED COPS is in the front row. Among them -- LT. He watches STRAWBERRY as -- With winning runs on, STRAWBERRY takes strike three, to lose the game. As STRAWBERRY walks off the field, he and LT face off. One on one. LT has lost the $60,000 bet. He knows how heavy this is. That his life is new in danger. The CROWD vents its rage. The deafening SOUND takes on a sensuous rhythm and becomes DANCE MUSIC, as -- From EXTREME CU - the BLACK FACE OF STRAWBERRY, we -- <b> FADE TO BLACK; </b> <b> FADE UP TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB </b> Half-nude DANCERS whirling in and out of sight, round and round in the strobe-flashed darkness. The DANCE MUSIC steals ones senses, makes conversation nearly impossible. People communicate in pantomime. LT pushes his way through the CROWD He cranes his neck, desperately searching for someone. At last, he spots his target. POV LT - A RESIDENT COKE DEALER. His FACE is visible, floating above the writhing crowd. LT pursues him. Finally catches him. They mime the deal. LT buys some COKE for immediate use. LT does the COKE off his wrist as he moves through the CROWD. LT trembles, frantic and manic-high, as he goes to his meeting with LITE. LT plows his way through the CROWD, heading toward the back of the club and the entrance to the V.I.P ROOM. Even this state, when he sights ACQUAINTANCES. LT turns on the charm and works the room. LT nears the V.I.P. ROOM. POV LT - The entrance to the V.I.P. ROOM is guarded by a PURPLE VELVET ROPE and an effete DOORMAN. When the DOORMAN sights LT, he lifts the ROPE, nods respectfully at the habitual patron. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: EVENING - LIMELIGHT NIGHTCLUB - THE V.I.P. ROOM </b> LT arrives. The V.I.P. ROOM is more laid-back, less populous than the throng-filled cave outside. The MUSIC is muted here, and more interesting. PARTIERS sit at the BAR, or at COCKTAIL TABLES. CHIC WAITRONS serve the clientele: HOTSHOT BOHEMIAN REGULARS, DRUG DEALERS and HOPEFUL RICH ADDICTS. In the privacy of the V.I.P.ROOM, drug use is hardly concealed. LT sashays over to LITE'S table, sits down. LT has taken on an attitude of false bravado. He greets LITE with a crazy grin. LITE is grim, doesn't respond in kind. He's not amused. LT orders a VODKA. <b> LITE </b> Do you have the money? <b> LT </b> (giggles) What money? <b> LITE </b> Don't bullshit me. LT keeps doing COKE off hs wrist, even as ne speaks to LITE. LT can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. <b> LT </b> I don't got it. Not tonight. You can't get blood from a stone. <b> LITE </b> This psycho can. <b> LT </b> Oooo... Big fucking scary guy. Just put $120,000 on tomorrow's game. <b> LITE </b> (laughs in his face) You're a fucking joke, you know that? (turns grim) He's been waiting for the money since the fucking game ended. And I've been waiting here since -- forget it. Listen up. You're gonna get us both fucking killed. You know that! <b> LT </b> Uh-uh. I'm gonna win. Just make sure the bet gets in. A COCKTAIL WAITRESS delivers LT's VODKA. LT orders another one, flirts with her -- she's gone in a flash. LT downs the VODKA in one shot. <b> LITE </b> You do know that he's gonna blow up your house, kill your wife and kids -- <b> LT </b> Good. I'll give him an extra 10 grand for his trouble. I hate that motherfucking house and -- <b> LITE </b> He's gonna kill you, man. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You. Dead. Get it? <b> LT </b> I've been dodging bullets since I was fourteen. No one can kill me. I'm fucking blessed. I'm fucking Catholic. This breaks LT up. He laughs until he cries. LITE watches the spectacle. Falls silent. They sit quietly for a moment. LT, impatient with the delivery of his second VODKA, takes a bottle cut of his COAT and re-fills his GLASS. DRINKS it down. LITE tries changing the subject. <b> LITE </b> How's the case going? <b> LT </b> What case? <b> LITE </b> The fucking rapists, man. The punks who raped that nun. The $50,000 reward from the Church! Remember? <b> LT </b> Yeah. Sure. Yeah. We're on it bigtime. Lots of leads. You bet. <b> LITE </b> That 50 G could help you -- LT looks as LITE as if he's crazy. He shakes his head. Sing- songs at him as if trying to teach an impaired student. <b> LT </b> The Mets are gonna win the Series. They're a lock. A change comes over LT. He leans in, gets seriously excited. LT is possessed by his memory of this afternoon's game. <b> LT </b> Get this, man. I was at the game today. Face to fucking face with Strawberry! Jesus! I saw him strikeout. And you know what? He looked at me, and I looked at him, and he laughed and I laughed and it was like we were all alone in that whole stadium and only we understood that it was all a racket, that he struck out on purpose, and that he's saving it up for the Big One. Tomorrow. Today I understood for the very first time that -- <b> LITE </b> You've really got a problem. LT shakes his head. Repeats himself in that sing-song, didactic way. <b> LT </b> -- that there was never any other way it could have gone. (beat) Never any other way. So you had better just put in my fucking bet. $120,000 on the last game. The Big One. Come on! Are you a bookmaker, or fucking what? <b> LITE </b> Here. Look I'll give you the psyho's number You call him yourself and tell him wnat you want. LITE stands up. He writes the BOOKIE'S NUMBER on a MATCHBOOK and gives it to LT. LITE leans over and gives LT a final warning. <b> LITE </b> You couldn't pay 60. You lose, you'll be in for 180. To a guy who kills people for nothing. LT LAUGHS. He's already onto the next thing. He checks out the GIRLS at the other TABLES. LITE takes to go. Then decides to try once more to get LT's attention. <b> LITE </b> I was supposed to meet him at midnight with the 60. It's already 1:00 AM. Be careful. I mean it. LT is still laughing as LITE leaves the V.I.P ROOM. Before going out the door, LITE turns to look one more time at his friend. POV LITE - LT is engaged in a clumsy come-on. Oblivious. The last thing LITE sees is LT grabbing a COCKTAIL WAITRESS' LEG and falling out of his chair. LT LAUGHS all the way to the <b> FLOOR. </b> LITE lowers his head and exits. LT gets up a moment later, brushes himself off, and swaggers out of the V.I.P. ROOM. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - THE LIMELIGHT CLUB </b> LT is in the throng again. The MUSIC blasts, the PARTIERS push and shove... LT elbows his way through the crowd. He makes moves on GIRLS. Banters with PATRONS. At the DOOR, he hesitates before going out, dallies with the BOUNCER. LT felt safe in the CLUB. New he's gotta go OUTSIDE. He's shit-scared. EXT. LT leaves the CLUB for the STREET, looking over his shoulder all the way. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - STAIRWELL OF J.C.'S APARTMENT BUILDING </b> LT enters an APARTMENT BUILDING, faces a dark and sinister staircase. STRANGE NOISES come from the APARTMENTS ABOVE. LT climbs. He hugs the wall, GUN at the ready. To LT, it seems some gothic horror may await him at any turn. On one landing, he comes upon a PIT-BULL. A GRANDMOTHER pulls him back inside an APARTMENT by the LEASH. On another landing, he sees a JUNKIE SHOOTING UP in the shadows. On another landing, a BIG GUY comes barreling out of his APARTMENT and down the stairs, almost bringing LT down with him. On another landing, a guy is taking out very PECULIAR GARBAGE. It might be body parts to an active imagination. At last, he reaches the DOOR to the APARTMENT for which he's been looking. <b> HARD CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: NIGHT - J.C.'S STRAIGHT PUERTO RICAN APARTMENT </b> A cheerful apartment. Quite different in atmosphere from the STAIRWELL, above. A large, multi-generation PUERTO RICAN FAMILY sits around the dinner table, eating CHICKEN ON RICE AND BEANS. JC is at the table. RELIGIOUS ARTIFACTS abound. A CODED KNOCK on the DOOR. JC jumps up to answer it. It's LT. (The hideous stairs led here.) JC lets him in. <b> JC </b> How are you doing, man? <b> LT </b> Very good. Very good. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. JC notes LT's bizarre manner. Decides to humor his paranoid catatonia. <b> JC </b> I know. Here. Just a moment. JC reaches into a bookcase, looking for something. Meanwhile, LT looks around the room. POV LT - A SHRINE is in the corner. CANDLES are lit before PLASTER SAINTS, AFRICAN DEITIES, other icons abstruse and exotic. A large "MADONNA AND CHILD", painted on black velvet, hangs above the SHRINE. The MADONNA AND CHILD are BLACK. LT takes this all in. JC startles him. JC is holding a CIGAR BOX. He opens it. It's full of CASH. JC hands it to LT. <b> JC </b> This should be it. Oh, wait. (to an old woman at the table) Mamacita? MAMACITA takes some VIALS of CRACK out of her APRON. SMILES. JC takes them from her, give them to LT. <b> JC </b> There. Now you've got your profit and more. You'll have more product day after tomorrow, right? <b> LT </b> (very spaced) Uh - right. Sure. The Mets are gonna win tomorrow. <b> JC </b> I know. (beat - looks at LT with concern) Take care of yourself, man, OK? Be cool. LT nods, puts MAMACITA'S CRACK VIALS in his pocket. He notices that -- POV LT - CU - The CIGAR BOX is inlaid with a CROSS, made of costume jewels. Other strange symbols surround it. It could be cursed -- or blessed. LT turns to go. The DOOR closes behind him. He's gone. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: NIGHT - STREET NEAR ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT walks through the streets on the way to ARIANE'S. He carries the CIGAR BOX. Suddenly, a SHOT rings out. ZOOM IN ON - CU LT Horror. Doubtless it was meant for him. LT panics. Freezes. As in a dream, he cannot run. POV LT - RAPID. ERRATIC. HAND HELD - LT looks for SNIPERS in the anonymous dark WINDOWS on the anonymous darks walls that create the mescarole canyon of the STREET. LT is entirely alone. He is stock-still, victim of his own terror. Suddenly. LT can move. He takes out his GUN, presses himself against the nearest WALL. From that position, he hears -- A BRASH FEMALE VOICE, coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is almost as loud as the "SHOT". <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Hey motherfucker! Take that backfire up the ass! LT can't believe that there is no "SNIPER", there was never any SHOT. It was a BACKFIRE! ANGLE - The CAR in question passes by. It HONKS, defiantly. Evidently, it is the CAR that had BACKFIRED. <b> BRASH FEMALE VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> Fuck you. LT is still pressed against the wall, GUN at the ready. He cannot be relieved. The terror is with him. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE NIGHT - ARIANE'S APARTMENT </b> LT rushes in, triple bolts the DOOR behind him. He immediately pulls the DRAPES. <b> LT </b> Someone just took a shot at me... Ariane laughs. <b> ARIANE </b> Sure, baby Sure And you don't do cocaine, either. LT turns on her. Adamant. Pleading with her to believe him. <b> LT </b> It's not the drugs, Ariane, it's -- it's someone who wants to kill me. (beat) You gotta believe me! <b> ARIANE </b> (shrugs) Why? ARIANE walks away, speaks with her back to LT. <b> LT </b> Just kick back, baby. Make yourself at home. (suddenly pissed) But of course it won't be nobody's home, if you don't come through with the fucking rent! LT lays his COAT down on the BED. Puts the CIGAR BOX of MONEY under it. LT sits down near the PHONE. He lights his CRACKPIPE with a MATCH from the MATCHBOOK on which LITE wrote the BOOKIE'S NUMBER. Then he tries to reach the BOOKIE. Some sort of wacky Mob joint answers. <b> LT </b> Hello? Is LARGE there? <b> MOB VOICE </b><b> (OC) </b> No. <b> LT </b> Look, man. Lite gave ne this number. OK? Just take a message. Tell Large to fucking call me right away at 123- 1234. Got it? <b> MOB VOICE </b> (CO -- phony humble) Sure, I get it... (laughs) <b> LT </b> I'm a good friend of Lite's, man. It's urgent that -- The MOB VOICE (CO) HANGS UP ON LT. LT tries to strangle the PHONE. <b> LT REDIALS. </b> The line is BUSY. <b> LT </b> Christ! Shit! I could kill them all with my bare hands. <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> Those fucking Mob assholes. LT makes the strangulation gesture again. ARIANE laughs at him. <b> ARIANE </b> C'mere. You got some good blow, right? <b> LT </b> Yeah. <b> ARIANE </b> Then c'mere. I got something for you. ARIANE pulls out a pristine NEEDLE. LT comes but flinches at the sight. Apparently BOWTAY overheard that drugs are on the way. BOWTAY appears out of the KITCHEN. BOWTAY sits down near by, awaiting her DOSE. ARIANE starts preparing the DOSE. She's got all the paraphernalia: SPOON. COTTON, a CANDLE FLAME, etc. <b> ARIANE </b> First I'll put your Uptown in the spoon, then, to make it more exciting, I'm gonna add some Downtown. They call this thing a speedball, honey, but then you must know that... (beat -- she leans in) First time shooting up? <b> LT </b> Nah... <b> ARIANE </b> Sure it is. You're a virgin. Just like that nun. And I'm gonna rape you. That decides it for LT. He sits down like a little boy and lets ARIANE shoot him up with the potent mixture of COCAINE and HEROIN. ARIANE shoots up BOWTAY, next. They do it on the BED, exploiting all possible erotic connotations. When LT rushes, he gets totally paranoid. Jumps at sounds, sneaks to the WINDOW, hears noises that aren't there. Then he flips, and becomes crazy-bold. Opens the DRAPES. Sticks his head out the WINDOW, waves his GUN at specters. Then he becomes shit-scared, again. His behavior is lunatic. ARIANE LAUGHS at his antics. Finally LT becomes wildly sensual. Revealing himself with total abandon. Dances. In the midst of this -- The PHONE RINGS LT is seriously startled. Then he realizes who it may be. He slowly answers the phone. LT can hardly speak. He is NUDE, and communicating from another world syllable by syllable. <b> LT </b> (into the phone) Large? <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> All right, cop. I want my money. <b> LT </b> It's still my money. If you want to have a chance at any part of it, shithead, you will take my $120,000 and bet on tomorrow's game. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> What about the money you owe me on yesterday's game? <b> LT </b> Fuck yesterday's game. The World Series is seven games not six. Put in my bet. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Let me think about it. <b> LT </b> There's nothing to think about. Either you put in my bet or you ain't getting nothing. BIG SILENCE on the PHONE. <b> LARGE </b> (CO -- lethal) Oh, really? <b> LT </b> Yeah, really. I'm no fucking asshole, man. I'm a fucking cop! <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> OK, cop. I want you to give yourself and your friends on the force a message. Tell them I've got my own reasons to be very interested in whomever did the job on the nuns. I'll double the Church reward if you bring those punks direct to me. 100 G cash. Get it? LT absorbs this, then bursts out. <b> LT </b> Fuck the nuns, man! I'm talking about Strawberry! Is the bet down? LARGE takes a moment. <b> LARGE </b><b> (OC) </b> Here's the deal: You meet me tonight across from the Garden. 33rd & 8th. At the beginning of the Ninth Inning. We'll listen to the end of the game together. You bring your cash, I'll bring mine. <b> LT </b> Yeah, sucker. You better be there! LT HANGS UP, turns to ARIANE. <b> LT </b> Can you believe the nerve of this fucking guy? He kills people for fun, and then, he puts up 100 G to bring in some guys who raped a nun. What a sick fuck. Man... <b> ARIANE </b> Who? <b> LT </b> A wiseguy. Paying 100 Grand for the rapists if I turn then over direct to him. ARIANE'S eyes light up. <b> ARIANE </b> But you could do it, baby. We could use the bread... <b> LT </b> You mean you could use it. ARIANE SHRUGS, waves his dig aside. LT leaps up. He's on a manic roll. Conceives an insanely captivating, impossible idea. As he speaks, he speeds more and more until he seems to be reciting a rapid-fire tongue twister perfect. <b> LT </b> I got it, man! I will find those kids. And I'll get the 50 G from the Church! Then the kids'll go to jail. I'll be in charge, of course. After a little while, I'll break the fuckers out -- and I'll turn them in to shithead I was just talking to. And pick up his 100 G. No. I'll hit him up for 200 G. Or 250 G. l can do it -- 'cause I've got the kids. Then, of course, there's the 180 G I'm gonna pick up on the Game tonight -- when the Strawberries win! <b> ARIANE </b> "The Strawberries"? <b> LT </b> The Mets. So anyway, chalk up another 180 G for the Game. Jesus Christ! That's almost half a million dollars. Ariane! Wait. That's not good enough, I'll ask the shithead for 280 G for the kids. Then it'll be a perfect 500 thousand. Yeah. Perfect. 280 G for the kids. Yeah, it's good I prepared, or I wouldn't have thought to -- ARIANE has been grooving on it until now. She sees a problem they've overlooked. <b> ARIANE </b> (cuts in) How come all those guys who're looking to get 50 from the Church haven't come up with shit? You got some kinda inside track? <b> LT </b> (nods -- dead serious) I'm a Catholic. ARIANE LAUGHS, decides to go with it. LT, out of breath from his tirade, lets the Downtown half of his dose kick in but good. He sits down in the same EASY CHAIR in which he nodded out the morning of the desecration. Nodding out, he stares out the same WINDOW. His eyes close. As it was that morning only four days ago, the SUNRISE is blood red. As if it is LT'S DREAM, we -- <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> DAY FIVE: </b> <b> GAME SEVEN: LT GETS DOUBLE OR NOTHING: $120,000 </b> <b> INT: DAWN THROUGH HIGH NOON CHURCH/CONVENT </b> CU - The ALABASTER NUN. She is lying cross -- probably has been all night. VARIOUS ANGLES. The still-desecrated CHURCH in all its enduring glory. Shafts of blood-red dawn-light. The NUN. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. Mid-morning; The NUN is still lying cross. <b> TIME PASSES. </b> VARIOUS ANGLES. High Noon. The NUN is still lying cross. Suddenly -- LT appears in the doorway, a black silhouette against the white light of noon. For a moment, he watches her from a distance. The NUN knows he is there. After a time, she gets up, goes to the altar, kneels. As if waiting for him. LT staggers down the center aisle. He's carrying the CIGAR <b> BOX. </b> LT joins the NUN, kneeling next to her at the altar. ANGLE - The CHALICE is still missing. They are all alone. At the ALTAR, before the CRUCIFIX, LT confronts the NUN face to face. The NUN holds her ROSARY <b> BEADS. </b> LT finally speaks. He thinks she'll be turned on by his offer of "help". <b> LT </b> Listen to me, Sister, listen to me good. The other cops'll just put the guys through the system. They're juveniles. They'll walk! Get it? But I'll beat the system and do justice. Real justice. For you. The NUN turns to run. <b> NUN </b> I have already forgiven them. LT is desperate. He lunges forward. Pleads with her. <b> LT </b> Come on lady! They put out cigarettes on your tits, man! Get with the program! Don't you want them behind bars? Or away from the world for good? How could you forgive these motherfu -- excuse me. These guys. How could you? Deep down, don't you want them to pay for what they did to you? Don't you want the crime avenged? <b> NUN </b> I have forgiven them. <b> LT </b> Nun! These boys still have their weapons, Sister. Your forgiveness will leave blood in its wake. What if they do it to other nuns? Other virgins? Old women who die from the shock? Do you have the rights let these boys go free? Can you bear the burden. Sister? The NUN turns to him, simple and pure, pure and simple. <b> NUN </b> I have prayed for days, Lieutenant. I have prayed for the souls of the boys who raped me. And I have prayed for my own soul, too. I know what I must do. And I know what I must not do. (beat) But you -- you -- it is you who needs to pray. Now, why do you want to kill these boys? Why -- really? <b> LT </b> (takes yet another tack) Look. Sister. No one has to get killed. We can solve this together. You and me -- as one. These boys are lost sheep. Both Catholic -- did you know that? And they're sick, Sister. With a stress of the mind and of the soul. They need help. Not just jail. Not just psychiatry. They need the help that only the Church can give. Please help me to help them. Help me find them before the others do. The night is full of evil men, chasing these boys with guns and clubs. We have charity and love on our side. I know that together, we could find them first, even in the dark... <b> NUN </b> The good reasons are not always the real reasons. Talk to Jesus, Lieutenant. Pray. (beat) You do you believe in God -- don't you? That Jesus Christ died for your sins? This blows him away. He has nothing to say to that. The NUN has finished her morning prayers. For a moment, she looks deep into LT's eyes. Then she gets up and leaves LT alone in the CHURCH. LT comes face to face with the mammoth CRUCIFIX. He is transfixed. POV - LT - JESUS on the CROSS. Soon, LT hears a VOICE. LT is not shocked or even surprised. He speaks to JESUS as to someone he's known all his life. <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Me? <b> JESUS </b><b> (OC) </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> You can't forgive me. After what I've done. (beat) I've fucked up bigtime. I've been bad. Real bad. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Please. Please don't forgive me. I've always hated you for that. POV LT - The CRUCIFIX takes on an hallucinatory radiance. Taking that aura with him, JESUS comes down off the CROSS, and moves toward LT, who is still kneeling at the ALTAR. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Why can't you hate me? Hate me! Please! Help me! (confused) Hate me! Help me! Hate me! <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why? Jesus! Why me? Why can't I wash the ashes from my forehead, year after year after year? And why am I still drunk on your blood, the taste of your flesh on my tongue? Worst of all, why can't I feel the nails in my palms, the spear in my side, the crown of thorns round my head? Why do I have to know, over and over, that it was you. You who died; died for my sins! And that I will die for nothing. Why? JESUS kneels down, knee to knee, face to face with LT. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> LT </b> Why do I dream every night of the whore who brought you water on your road to death? And why have I never forgotten that if she, then I -- LT averts his eyes. When he looks up again -- JESUS is back on the CROSS. Inert, and yet -- LT rises, moves around the interior of the CHURCH. He stumbles, struggles, pleads. Falls, rises, falls and rises again -- as if wrestling with an invisible assailant. He collapses in a corner. <b> LT </b> Oh God, my God. it's goddamn good to be good. Forgive me. Father, for I have sinned. It's still goddamn good to be good. <b> JESUS </b> I forgive you. <b> EPIPHANY. BLOODY CHRIST ON THE CROSS. HALLELUJAH! </b> In the aftermath of his revelation, he notices, cleanly, a hunched, ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN carrying something toward the <b> ALTAR. </b> He staggers toward her. Yes. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN has the <b> CHALICE! </b> LT grabs the CHALICE. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN doesn't let go. <b> LT </b> The chalice. Tell me! Who gave it to you! Tell me where the fuck you got it! Take me there! Now! At first, she doesn't speak at all. LT begins to CRY. Begs her to tell him. Then he wields his PISTOL, repeats his plea. Then breaks into TEARS. She speaks at last. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> I can't tell you. Gun in hand, LT gets down on his knees. <b> LT </b> In the name of God, you must. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband will give me Hell, Mister. <b> LT </b> We've already got Hell, Sister. She meets LT's eyes, seems to understand something. Calmly, she tells him what he needs to know. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> It's very hard. He's a -- you're not a cop, are you? <b> LT </b> No. Not a cop. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> My husband is a fence. He got this chalice from a couple of kids. Just yesterday, I think. I stole it out of his shop so as to return it to where it ought to be. It's a holy thing, you know. A holy thing. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN lets go of the CHALICE. Now LT holds ten CHALICE in his hands, alone. He speaks as if entranced. <b> LT </b> A holy thing. (beat -- snaps to) Let's go. Suddenly purposive, LT grabs the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN by the arm. Starts pulling her out of the CHURCH. He holds the CHALICE with the other arm, picks up the CIGAR BOX on his way out. Manages to carry both items. When LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN reach the door to outside, they both pause to GENUFLECT. Then LT grabs her again and they rush out. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: AFTERNOON - BARRIO STREETS - EN ROUTE TO THE FENCE </b> LT walks the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN swiftly through the streets toward the FENCE'S SHOP. He still holds the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. PEOPLE watch them pass and make way. As if they realize that something is happening -- on several levels at once. The GAME has begun. It is on TV in every BAR and SHOP WINDOW. In both English and Spanish. Slowly but surely, the Mets are losing. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> INT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE FENCE'S SHOP </b> LT and the ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN enter the SHOP. LT is wielding the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. He has true madness m his eyes. POV LT - The GAME is playing on a couple dozen TV's in the FENCE'S SHOP' The Mets are still losing! The FENCE, and elderly Black man, is sitting in one of many EASY CHAIRS. He doesn't seem surprised to see his WIFE. Or the CHALICE. Or LT! It's as if he expected them. <b> FENCE </b> You took the chalice. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. <b> FENCE </b> You brought it back to the Church. And then it made it's way back to me, again. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Yes. Th FENCE bursts out LAUGHING. <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> Are you all right, honey? <b> FENCE </b> I was gonna bring it back myself. The ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN is obviously relieved. <b> FENCE </b> Jesus, woman! What did you think? You thought I'd get mad like I did that time you took that set of pots and pans? That was twenty years ago. And how do you compare pots and pans and a chalice? LT speaks up suddenly. <b> LT </b> They both hold stuff you eat. After a beat, the FENCE and his WIFE start LAUGHING. LT joins in. <b> FENCE </b> (to LT) So what are you doing here? <b> ELDERLY BLACK WOMAN </b> He wants to know who brought in the chalice. <b> FENCE </b> That's no mystery. Julio and Paolo brought it in, (beat) You don't want to hurt those boys, do you? I mean, they sure as Hell have got something coming, but it ain't what the Law wants to give them. You understand? (beat -- shakes his head) No. How could you understand. The FENCE seems to study LT. POV FENCE - LT. Wretched. The FENCE thinks again. <b> FENCE </b> Well -- maybe you do. But I don't know where those boys are at right now. You'll have to ask around. Those boys on the corner'll know. You'll have to get it out of them. But they know. POV LT - Through the WINDOW of the FENCE'S SHOP, a busy DRUG CORNER is visible. <b> LT </b> (spaced) Thank you. And I'll make sure the chalice gets back where it belongs. LT leaves. CHALICE in hand. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: LATE AFTERNOON - THE STREETS IN THE BARRIO - MONTAGE </b> LT stumbles through the streets, questioning people about "JULIO and PAOLO". No one knows anything. LT stops people at random, getting really desperate. He shows people the CHALICE, asks them if they've seen it before. No one has. LT plays both ADDICT and COP as it suits his needs. By now, he looks more like a homeless man than anything else. But none of his play-acting or lethal threats get him anywhere. The GAME is everywhere, and the Mets are still losing. Finally, LT approaches a hustling STREET DEALER. He cops. The STREET DEALER is wearing a WALKMAN, so the deal goes down in mime. Now, LT speaks and wants to be heard. <b> LT </b> Hey -- Have you seen Paolo or Julio around? The STREET DEALER uses his WALKMAN and the resulting "deafness" to excuse his total lack of response. LT starts MOUTHING WORDS silently at the STREET DEALER. No response. Then, he -- silently -- begins to shout. The STREET DEALER's alarmed that he seemingly can't hear at all above the WALKMAN music. He moves the WALKMAN away from his ears but doesn't take it off. <b> STREET DEALER </b> What the fuck you want. <b> LT </b> You know, my Uncle used to wear a walkman all the time. The walkman looked just like yours. And you look something like my Uncle. But one day he was standing in a puddle -- the puddle locked just like that one -- LT points to a PUDDLE in which the STREET DEALER is now Standing. <b> STREET DEALER </b> And what? <b> LT </b> And he got electrocuted. The STREET DEALER tries to consider what this crazy guy has just told him, but before the STREET DEALER can even react. LT leans in on him, shows his GUN and then his BADGE. <b> LT </b> Look -- I don't know you, and you don't know me, but I'm really in the mood to kill someone today and you are at the end of my gun. (beat) Have you ever had days like that? Yeah, you have, so now you understand where I'm coming from. (beat) Tell me! Where is Julio and Paolo ? The STREET DEALER answers with absolute ease. That was all it was about? No problem. <b> STREET DEALER </b> They were at that abandoned building last night. Second floor. They're probably still there now. It's next to the old Convent. Downtown a ways. You know the place... CU. LT - It hits him. The CRACKHOUSE where the kids hang out has always been right next to the CHURCH/CONVENT where it an began! It suddenly makes sense to him. LT completes re transaction, pays the STREET DEALER for the DRUG BAGS. He takes the CASH out of the CIGAR BOX, revealing dozens of thousands of dollars. The STREET DEALER stares at the wretched man with a box full of cash. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT: EVENING - EN ROUTE TO THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT, carrying the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX, heads back Downtown toward the CRACKHOUSE -- and the CHURCH/CONVENT. In BARS, TV STORE WINDOWS, in snatches of strangers' conversation, the FINAL GAME IS EVERYWHERE. The whole city has stopped to watch it. LT is practically the only person in the street. Worst of all, the Mets are seriously behind. They are definitely LOSING. LT drags himself onward. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - THE CRACKHOUSE </b> LT busts in. Fires shots, collars the KIDS. The KIDS are wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT. They also wear gold CROSSES. LT HANDCUFFS them. The other CRACKHEADS race out. There is even a TV in the CRACKHOUSE -- playing the GAME! The SOUND is Off. The Mets keep losing. If anything will force LT to kill/and or take the KIDS into custody, this would seem to be it. <b> JULIO </b> Who the fu-- <b> LT </b> Shut up. Let's watch the game. LT sits down next to the KIDS. SMOKES with them, watches the Game. LT must hold the PIPE for them, as they are HANDCUFFED. LT gets them super-high, and himself likewise. He still holds his GUN. The KIDS go along with it. Taking it moment to moment. All three, despite the situation, are heavily into the Game. <b> LT </b> Strawberry... <b> PAOLO </b> Yeah... After a moment, LT gets up. The KIDS understand that they must do the same. <b> LT </b> Give me the robes. The KIDS hand over the PURPLE ROBES and LT puts them on. <b> JULIO </b> You're not a cop are you? <b> LT </b> No. LT exits. Taking the KIDS along. He carries the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR AND STREETS EN ROUTE TO RENDEZ- </b><b> VOUS </b> VARIOUS ANGLES - LT drives toward the fatal rendez-vous with the BOOKIE. He is wearing the PURPLE ROBES from the CHURCH/CONVENT and has the CHALICE and the CIGAR BOX. LT has the KIDS handcuffed in the back seat. (The Scene mirrors Scene 2. in which LT drove his own TWINS to school.) The FINAL GAME (SEVEN) is on the RADIO. LT is listening, but also not listening. LT talks wildly about Jesus Christ. And about the misery they pass in the street. He waves his GUN wildly, punctuating his speech with potentially lethal gestures. He aims the GUN at JULIO and PAULO, then at himself, then out the window, then at the KIDS, again. <b> LT </b> Jesus died for your sins, you motherfuckers! Not me. No. I didn't die for your sins. No, not me. Jesus went and did it. (beat) So why did you do what you did? If you want to live, tell me now, motherfuckers! Tell me now! LT turns around and looks at JULIO and PAOLO, both of them HANDCUFFED in the back seat. POV LT - CU - JULIO and PAOLO both have TEARS running down their cheeks. Silently. <b> LT </b> I forgive you. LT starts CRYING too, at the same time CURSING at the TRAFFIC. He drives wildly toward the Port Authority Terminal. The Mets are coming up from behind -- but it is a long shot. LT doesn't seem to care. He stares into space. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT:/INT: EVENING - LTS CAR - THE PORT AUTHORITY TERMINAL </b> LT stops his CAR -- next to a BUS in an underground tunnel. <b> LT </b> Get out. The KIDS do. LT follows fast. AT THE BUS: He makes them board at GUN POINT. <b> LT </b> If you think you're not getting on this bus, you're dead wrong. No fucking way are you gonna miss this bus, man! You were probably the kind of kids who had your father drive you to school cause you couldn't catch the fucking bus. But no more, man. You're getting on this bus and you're taking it to the last fucking stop. So get on the fucking bus, man, 'cause you're life ain't worth shit in this town. LT uncuffs them and the KIDS get on the BUS, dumbstruck. LT hands JULIO the CIGAR BOX. His "salvation." The KIDS don't even know what is inside. They take it. LT gets back into his CAR, takes off. <b> CUT TO: </b> <b> EXT/INT: EVENING - LT'S CAR - AT 33RD STREET & 8TH AVENUE - </b><b> AT THE RENDEZ-VOUS WITH THE BOOKIE </b> <b> EXT: LT PULLS UP AT THE APPOINTED SPOT. HE AWAITS THE </b><b> ARRIVAL OF THE BOOKIE. </b> INT: STRAWBERRY is up. The GAME can go either way. Suspense. But not on the face of LT. He is dressed in the PURPLE ROBES, the CHALICE beside him in the CAR. The BOOKIE pulls up and -- without getting out of his CAR -- He SHOOTS LT in the head. The BOOKIE speeds off. (We never saw him behind the dark windows,} LT is dead in his CAR. On the RADIO, the GAME is ending. STRAWBERRY hits a HOME RUN and the -- Mets win, the CROWD ROARS. <b> END CREDITS. </b> <b> FIN </b>

Enter them into evidence.